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TWILIGHT 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

PIGS  IN  CLOVER 

BACCARAT 

THE  SPHINX'S  LAWYER 

THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 

AN  INCOMPLEAT  ETONIAN 

LET  THE  ROOF  FALL  IN 

JOSEPH  IN  JEOPARDY 

DR.  PHILLIPS 

A  BABE  OF  BOHEMIA 

CONCERT  PITCH 

FULL  SWING 

NELSON'S  LEGACY 

THE  STORY  BEHIND  THE  VERDICT 

TWILIGHT 


TWILIGHT 


BY 

FRANK  DANBY 

AUTHOR  OF  "  PIGS  IN  CLOVER,"  "  THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD, 
"THE  STORY  BEHIND  THE  VERDICT."  ETC. 


COPYRIGHT,  1916.   BY 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 


TWILIGHT 


2229061 


CHAPTER  I 

A  COUPLE  of  years  ago,  on  the  very  verge  of  the  ill- 
ness that  subsequently  overwhelmed  me,  I  took  a 
small  furnished  house  in  Pineland.  I  made  no  in- 
spection of  the  place,  but  signed  the  agreement  at 
the  instance  of  the  local  house-agent,  who  proved 
little  less  inventive  than  the  majority  of  his  con- 
freres. 

Three  months  of  neuritis,  only  kept  within 
bounds  by  drugs,  had  made  me  comparatively  indif- 
ferent to  my  surroundings.  It  was  necessary  for 
me  to  move  because  I  had  become  intolerant  of  the 
friends  who  exclaimed  at  my  ill  looks,  and  the 
acquaintances  who  failed  to  notice  any  alteration 
in  me.  One  sister  whom  I  really  loved,  and  who 
really  loved  me,  exasperated  me  by  constant  visits 
and  ill-concealed  anxiety.  Another  irritated  me 
little  less  by  making  light  of  my  ailment  and  speak- 
ing of  neuritis  in  an  easy  familiar  manner  as  one 
might  of  toothache  or  a  corn.  I  had  no  natural 
sleep,  and  if  I  were  not  on  the  borderland  of  in- 
sanity, I  was  at  least  within  sight  of  the  home  park 
of  inconsequence.  Reasoned  behaviour  was  no 
longer  possible,  and  I  knew  it  was  necessary  for  me 
to  be  alone. 


2  TWILIGHT 

I  do  not  wish  to  recall  this  bad  time  nor  the 
worse  that  ante-dated  my  departure,  when  I  was 
at  the  mercy  of  venal  doctors  and  indifferent 
nurses,  dependent  on  grudged  bad  service  and  over- 
paid inattention,  taking  a  so-called  rest  cure.  But 
I  do  wish  to  relate  a  most  curious  circumstance,  or 
set  of  circumstances,  that  made  my  stay  in  Pine- 
land  memorable,  and  left  me,  after  my  sojourn 
there,  obsessed  with  the  story  of  which  I  found  the 
beginning  on  the  first  night  of  my  arrival,  and  the 
end  in  the  long  fevered  nights  that  followed.  I 
myself  hardly  know  how  much  is  true  and 
how  much  is  fiction  in  this  story;  for  what  the 
cache  of  letters  is  responsible,  and  for  what  the 
morphia. 

The  house  at  Pineland  was  called  Carbies,  and  it 
was  haunted  for  me  from  the  first  by  Margaret 
Capel  and  Gabriel  Stanton.  Quite  early  in  my  stay 
I  must  have  contemplated  writing  about  them, 
knowing  that  there  was  no  better  way  of  ridding 
myself  of  their  phantoms,  than  by  trying  to  make 
them  substantial  in  pen  and  ink.  I  had  their  letters 
and  some  scraps  of  an  unfinished  diary  to  help  me, 
a  notebook  with  many  blank  pages,  the  garrulous 
reticence  of  the  village  apothecary,  and  the  evidence 
of  the  sun-washed  God's  Acre  by  the  old  church. 

To  begin  at  the  beginning. 

It  was  a  long  drive  from  Pineland  station  to 
Carbies.  I  had  sent  my  maid  in  advance,  but  there 


TWILIGHT  3 

was  no  sign  of  her  when  my  ricketty  one-horse 
fly  pulled  up  at  the  garden  gate  of  a  suburban  villa 
of  a  house  "  standing  high  "  it  is  true,  and  with 
"  creeper  climbing  about  its  white-painted  walls." 
But  otherwise  with  no  more  resemblance  to  the  ex- 
quisite and  secluded  cottage  ornee  I  had  in  my  mind, 
and  that  the  house-agent  had  portrayed  in  his  let- 
ters, than  a  landscape  by  Matise  to  one  by  Ruysdael. 
I  was  too  tired  then  to  be  greatly  disappointed. 
Two  servants  had  been  sent  in  by  my  instructions, 
and  the  one  who  opened  the  door  to  me  proved  to 
be  a  cheerful-looking  young  person  of  the  golly wog 
type,  with  a  corresponding  cap,  who  relieved 
me  of  my  hand  luggage  and  preceded  me  to  the 
drawing-room,  where  wide  windows  and  a  bright 
fire  made  me  oblivious  for  the  moment  of  the 
shabby  furniture,  worn  carpet,  and  mildewed  wall- 
paper. Tea  was  brought  to  me  in  a  cracked  pot 
on  a  veneered  tray.  The  literary  supplement  of 
The  Times  and  an  American  magazine  were  all  I 
had  with  which  to  occupy  myself.  And  they  proved 
insufficient.  I  began  to  look  about  me;  and 
became  curiously  and  almost  immediately  conscious 
that  my  new  abode  must  have  been  inhabited  by  a 
sister  or  brother  of  the  pen.  The  feeling  was  not 
psychic.  The  immense  writing-table  stood  side- 
ways in  the  bow-window  as  only  "  we  "  know  how 
to  place  it.  The  writing-chair  looked  sufficiently 
luxurious  to  tempt  me  to  an  immediate  trial ;  there 


4  TWILIGHT 

were  a  footstool  and  a  big  waste-paper  basket;  all 
incongruous  with  the  cheap  and  shabby  drawing- 
room  furniture.  Had  only  my  MS.  paper  been 
to  hand,  ink  in  the  substantial  glass  pot,  and  my 
twin  enamel  pens  available,  I  think  I  should  then 
and  there  have  abjured  all  my  vows  of  rest  and 
called  upon  inspiration  to  guide  me  to  a  fresh 
start. 

"  Work  whilst  ye  have  the  light "  had  been  my 
text  for  months;  driving  me  on  continually.  It 
seemed  possible,  even  then,  that  the  time  before 
me  was  short.  I  left  the  fire  and  my  unfinished 
tea.  Instinctively  I  found  the  words  rising  to  my 
lips,  "  I  could  write  here."  That  was  the  way  a 
place  always  struck  me.  Whether  I  could  or  could 
not  write  there?  Seated  in  that  convenient  easy- 
chair  I  felt  at  once  that  my  shabby  new  surround- 
ings were  sympathetic  to  me,  that  I  fitted  in  and 
was  at  home  in  them. 

I  had  come  straight  from  a  narrow  London 
house  where  my  bedroom  overlooked  a  mews,  and 
my  sitting-room  other  narrow  houses  with  a  road- 
way between.  Here,  early  in  March,  from  the 
wide  low  window  I  saw  yellow  gorse  overgrowing 
a  rough  and  unkempt  garden.  Beyond  the  garden 
more  flaming  gorse  on  undulating  common  land, 
then  hills,  and  between  them,  unmistakable,  the 
sombre  darkness  of  the  sea.  Up  here  the  air  was 
very  still,  but  the  smell  of  the  gorse  was  strong  with 


TWILIGHT  5 

the  wind  from  that  distant  sea.  I  wished  for  pens 
and  paper  at  first;  then  drifted  beyond  wishes, 
dreaming  I  knew  not  of  what,  but  happier  and  more 
content  than  I  had  been  for  some  time  past.  The 
air  was  healing,  so  were  the  solitude  and  silence.  My 
silence  and  solitude  were  interrupted,  my  content 
came  abruptly  to  an  end. 

"Dr.  Kennedy!" 

I  did  not  rise.  In  those  bad  neuritis  days  rising 
was  not  easy.  I  stared  at  the  intruder,  and  he  at 
me.  But  I  guessed  in  a  minute  to  what  his  unwel- 
come presence  was  due.  My  anxious,  dearly 
beloved,  and  fidgetty  sister  had  found  out  the  name 
of  the  most  noted  ^sculapius  of  the  neighbourhood 
and  had  notified  him  of  my  arrival,  probably  had 
given  him  a  misleading  and  completely  erroneous 
account  of  my  illness,  certainly  asked  him  to  call. 
I  found  out  afterwards  I  was  right  in  all  my 
guesses  save  one.  This  was  not  the  most  noted 
^Esculapius  of  the  neighbourhood,  but  his  more 
youthful  partner.  Dr.  Lansdowne  was  on  his 
holiday.  Dr.  Kennedy  had  read  my  sister's  letter 
and  was  now  bent  upon  carrying  out  her  instruc- 
tions. As  I  said,  we  stared  at  each  other  in  the 
advancing  dusk. 

"You  have  only  just  come?"  he  ventured  then. 

"  I've  been  here  about  an  hour,"  I  replied — "  a 
quiet  hour." 

"  I  had  your  sister's  letter,"  he  said  apologetic- 


6  TWILIGHT 

ally,  if  a  little  awkwardly,  as  he  advanced  into  the 
room. 

"  She  wrote  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  I've  got  the  letter  somewhere."  He 
felt  in  his  pocket  and  failed  to  find  it. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

There  was  no  chair  near  the  writing-table  save 
the  one  upon  which  I  sat.  A  further  reason  why  I 
knew  my  predecessor  here  had  been  a  writer !  Dr. 
Kennedy  had  to  fetch  one,  and  I  took  shallow 
stock  of  him  meanwhile.  A  tall  and  not  ill-look- 
ing man  in  the  late  thirties  or  early  forties,  he  had 
on  the  worst  suit  of  country  tweeds  I  had  ever 
seen  and  incongruously  well-made  boots.  Now  he 
sprawled  silently  in  the  selected  chair,  and  I  waited 
for  his  opening.  Already  I  was  nauseated  with 
doctors  and  their  methods.  In  town  I  had  seen 
everybody's  favourite  nostrum-dispenser,  and  none 
of  them  had  relieved  me  of  anything  but  my  hardly 
earned  cash.  I  mean  to  present  a  study  of  them 
one  day,  to  get  something  back  from  what  I  have 
given.  Dr.  Kennedy  did  not  accord  with  the  black- 
coated  London  brigade,  and  his  opening  was 
certainly  different. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  feeling  unwell  ? " 
That  was  what  I  expected,  this  was  the  common 
gambit.  Dr.  Kennedy  sat  a  few  minutes  without 
speaking  at  all.  Then  he  asked  me  abruptly : 

"  Did  you  know  Mrs.  Capel  ?  " 


TWILIGHT  7 

"Who?" 

"  Margaret  Capel.  You  knew  she  lived  here, 
didn't  you  ?  That  it  was  here  it  all  happened  ?  " 

"What  happened?" 

"  Then  you  don't  know  ?  "  He  got  up  from  his 
chair  in  a  fidgetty  sort  of  way  and  went  over  to  the 
other  window.  "  I  hoped  you  knew  her,  that  she 
had  been  a  friend  of  yours.  I  hoped  so  ever  since 
I  had  your  sister's  letter.  Carbies!  It  seemed  so 
strange  to  be  coming  here  again.  I  can't  believe 
it  is  ten  years  ago ;  it  is  all  so  vivid ! "  He  came 
back  and  sat  down  again.  "  I  ought  not  to  talk 
about  her,  but  the  whole  room  and  house  are  so 
full  of  memories.  She  used  to  sit,  just  as  you  are 
sitting  now,  for  hours  at  a  time,  dreaming.  Some- 
times she  would  not  speak  to  me  at  all.  I  had  to 
go  away;  I  could  see  I  was  intruding." 

The  cynical  words  on  my  lips  remained  unut- 
tered.  He  was  tall,  and  if  his  clothes  had  fitted 
him  he  might  have  presented  a  better  figure.  I 
hate  a  morning  coat  in  tweed  material.  The  adjec- 
tive "  uncouth  "  stuck.  I  saw  it  was  a  clever  head 
under  the  thick  mane  of  black  hair,  and  wondered 
at  his  tactlessness  and  provincial  garrulity.  I 
nevertheless  found  myself  not  entirely  uninterested 
in  him. 

"  Do  you  mind  my  talking  about  her  ?  Incan- 
descent! I  think  that  word  describes  her  best. 
She  burned  from  the  inside,  was  strung  on  wires, 


8  TWILIGHT 

and  they  were  all  alight.  She  was  always  sitting 
just  where  you  are  now,  or  upstairs  at  the  piano. 
She  was  a  wonderful  pianist.  Have  you  been 
upstairs,  into  the  room  she  turned  into  a  music 
room  ?  " 

"  As  I  told  you,  I  have  only  been  here  an  hour. 
This  is  the  only  room  I  have  seen." 

My  tone  must  have  struck  him  as  wanting  in 
cordiality,  or  interest. 

"  You  didn't  want  me  to  come  up  to-night  ?  "  He 
looked  through  his  pocketbook  for  Ella's  let- 
ter, found  it,  and  began  to  read,  half  aloud. 
How  well  I  knew  what  Ella  would  have  said  to 
him. 

"  She  has  taken  '  Carbies ' ;  call  upon  her  at 
once  ...  let  me  know  what  you  think  .  .  . 
don't  be  misled  by  her  high  spirits  .  .  ."  He 
read  it  half  aloud  and  half  to  himself.  He  seemed 
to  expect  my  sympathy.  "  I  used  to  come  here  so 
often,  two  or  three  times  a  day  sometimes." 

"Was  she  ill?"  The  question  was  involuntary. 
Margaret  Capel  was  nothing  to  me. 

"  Part  of  the  time.     Most  of  the  time." 

"  Did  you  do  her  any  good  ?  " 

Apparently  he  had  no  great  sense  or  sensitive- 
ness of  professional  dignity.  There  was  a  strange 
light  in  his  eyes,  brilliant  yet  fitful,  conjured  up  by 
the  question.  It  was  the  first  time  he  seemed  to 
recognize  my  existence  as  a  separate  entity.  He 


TWILIGHT  9 

looked  directly  at  me,  instead  of  gazing  about  him 
reminiscently. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  did  my  best.  When  she  was  in 
pain  I  stopped  it  ...  sometimes.  She  did 
not  always  like  the  medicines  I  prescribed.  And 
you?  You  are  suffering  from  neuritis,  your  sister 
says.  That  may  mean  anything.  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  In  my  legs." 

I  did  not  mean  him  to  attend  me;  I  had  come 
away  to  rid  myself  of  doctors.  And  anyway  I 
liked  an  older  man  in  a  professional  capacity.  But 
his  eccentricity  of  manner  or  deportment,  his  want 
of  interest  in  me  and  absorption  in  his  former 
patient,  his  ill-cut  clothes  and  unlikeness  to  his 
brother  professionals,  were  a  little  variety,  and  I 
found  myself  answering  his  questions. 

"  Have  you  tried  Kasemol  ?  It  is  a  Japanese 
cure  very  efficacious;  or  any  other  paint?  " 

"  I  am  no  artist." 

He  smiled.  He  had  a  good  set  of  teeth,  and  his 
smile  was  pleasant. 

"  You've  got  a  nurse,  or  a  maid  ?  " 

"  A  maid.    I'm  not  ill  enough  for  nurses." 

"  Good.  Did  you  know  this  was  once  a  nursing- 
home?  After  she  found  that  out  she  could  never 
bear  the  place  .  .  ." 

He  was  talking  again  about  the  former  occupant 
of  the  house.  My  ailment  had  not  held  his  atten- 
tion long. 


io  TWILIGHT 

"  She  said  she  smelt  ether  and  heard  groaning  in 
the  night.  I  suppose  it  seems  strange  to  you  I 
should  talk  so  much  about  her?  But  Carbies  with- 
out Margaret  Capel  .  .  .  You  do  mind  ? " 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  daresay  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear 
all  about  her  one  day,  and  the  story.  I  see  you  have 
a  story  to  tell.  Of  course  I  remember  her  now. 
She  wrote  a  play  or  two,  and  some  novels  that  had 
quite  a  little  vogue  at  one  time.  But  I'm  tired 
to-night." 

"  So  short  a  journey  ought  not  to  tire  you."  He 
was  observing  me  more  closely.  "  You  look  over- 
driven, too  fine-drawn.  We  must  find  out  all 
about  it.  Not  to-night  of  course.  You  must  not 
look  upon  this  as  a  professional  visit  at  all,  but 
I  could  not  resist  coming.  You  would  understand, 
if  you  had  known  her.  And  then  to  see  you  sitting 
at  her  table,  and  in  the  same  attitude  .  .  ." 
He  left  off  abruptly.  So  the  regard  I  had  flattered 
myself  to  be  personal  was  merely  reminiscent. 
"  You  don't  write  too,  by  any  chance,  do  you  ?  That 
would  be  an  extraordinary  coincidence." 

He  might  as  well  have  asked  Melba  if  she  sang. 
Blundering  fool!  I  was  better  known  than 
Margaret  Capel  had  ever  been.  Not  proud  of  my 
position  because  I  have  always  known  my  limita- 
tions, but  irritated  nevertheless  by  his  ignorance, 
and  wishful  now  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  Oh,  yes !    I  write  a  little  sometimes.    Sorry  my 


TWILIGHT  ii 

position  at  the  table  annoys  you.  But  I  don't  play 
the  piano."  He  seemed  a  little  surprised  or  hurt 
at  my  tone,  as  he  well  might,  and  rose  to  go.  I 
rose,  too,  and  held  out  my  hand.  After  all  I  did 
not  write  under  my  own  name,  so  how  could  he 
have  known  unless  Ella  had  told  him?  When  he 
shook  hands  with  me  he  made  no  pretence  of  feel- 
ing my  pulse,  a  trick  of  the  trade  which  I  particu- 
larly dislike.  So  I  smiled  at  him.  "  I  am  a  little 
irritable." 

"  Irritability  is  characteristic  of  the  complaint. 
And  I  have  bored  you  horribly,  I  fear.  But  it  was 
such  an  excitement  coming  up  here  again.  May  I 
come  in  the  morning  and  overhaul  you?  My 
partner,  Dr.  Lansdowne,  for  whom  your  sister's 
letter  was  really  intended,  is  away.  Does  that 
matter  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  think  so." 

"  He  is  a  very  able  man,"  he  said  seriously. 

"  And  are  you  not  ?  "  By  this  time  my  legs  were 
aching  badly  and  I  wanted  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  In  the  morning,  then." 

He  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  spoken  again, 
but  thought  better  of  it.  He  had  certainly  a  per- 
sonality, but  one  that  I  was  not  sure  I  liked.  He 
took  an  inconceivable  time  winding  up  or  starting 
his  machine,  the  buzz  of  it  was  in  my  ears  long 
after  he  went  off,  blowing  an  unnecessary  whistle, 
making  my  pain  unbearable. 


12  TWILIGHT 

I  dined  in  bed  and  treated  myself  to  an  extra 
dose  of  nepenthe  on  the  excuse  of  the  fatigue  of  my 
journey.  The  prescription  had  been  given  to  me  by 
one  of  those  eminent  London  physicians  of  whom 
I  hope  one  day  to  make  a  pen-and-ink  drawing.  It 
is  an  insidious  drug  with  varying  effects.  That 
night  I  remember  the  pain  was  soon  under  weigh 
and  the  strange  half-wakeful  dreams  began  early. 
It  was  good  to  be  out  of  pain  even  if  one  knew  it  to 
be  only  a  temporary  deliverance.  The  happiness  of  a 
recovered  amiability  soon  became  mine,  after  which 
conscience  began  to  worry  me  because  I  had  been 
ungrateful  to  my  sister  and  had  run  away  from  her, 
and  been  rude  to  her  doctor,  that  strange  doctor.  I 
smiled  in  my  drowsiness  when  I  thought  of  him  and 
his  beloved  Margaret  Capel,  a  strange  devotee  at  a 
forgotten  shrine,  in  his  cutaway  checked  coat  and 
the  baggy  trousers.  But  the  boots  might  have  come 
from  Lobb.  His  hands  were  smooth,  of  the  right 
texture.  Evidently  the  romance  of  his  life  had  been 
this  Margaret  Capel. 

So  this  place  had  been  a  nursing-home,  and  when 
she  knew  it  she  heard  groans  and  smelt  ether.  Her 
books  were  like  that :  fanciful,  frothy.  She  had 
never  a  straightforward  story  to  tell.  It  was  years 
since  I  had  heard  her  name,  and  I  had  forgotten 
what  little  I  knew,  except  that  I  had  once  been 
resentful  of  the  fuss  the  critics  had  made  over  her. 
I  believed  she  was  dead,  but  could  not  be  sure. 


TWILIGHT  13 

Then  I  thought  of  Death,  and  was  glad  it  had  no 
terrors  for  me.  No  one  could  go  on  living  as  I 
had  been  doing,  never  out  of  pain,  without  seeing 
Death  as  a  release. 

A  burning  point  of  pain  struck  me  again,  and 
because  I  was  drugged  I  found  it  unbearable.  Be- 
fore it  was  too  late  and  I  became  drowsier  I  roused 
myself  for  another  dose.  To  pour  out  the  medicine 
and  put  the  glass  down  without  spilling  it  was 
difficult,  the  table  seemed  uneven.  Later  my 
brain  became  confused,  and  my  body  comfort- 
able. 

It  was  then  I  saw  Margaret  Capel  for  the  first 
time,  not  knowing  who  she  was,  but  glad  of  her 
appearance,  because  it  heralded  sleep.  Always 
before  the  drug  assumed  its  fullest  powers,  I  saw 
kaleidoscopic  changes,  unsubstantial  shapes,  things 
and  people  that  were  not  there.  Wonderful  things 
sometimes.  This  was  only  a  young  woman  in  a 
grey  silk  dress,  of  old-fashioned  cut,  with  puffed 
sleeves  and  wide  skirts.  She  had  a  mass  of  fair 
hair,  blonde  cendre,  and  with  a  blue  ribbon  snooded 
through  it.  At  first  her  face  was  nebulous,  after- 
wards it  appeared  with  a  little  more  colour  in  it, 
and  she  had  thin  and  tremulous  pink  lips.  She 
looked  plaintive,  and  when  our  eyes  met  she 
seemed  a  little  startled  at  seeing  me  in  her  bed. 
The  last  thing  I  saw  of  her  was  a  wavering  smile, 
rather  wonderful  and  alluring.  I  knew  at  once 


14  TWILIGHT 

that  she  was  Margaret  Capel.  But  she  was  quickly 
replaced  by  two  Chinese  vases  and  a  conventional 
design  in  black  and  gold.  I  had  been  too  liberal 
with  that  last  dose  of  nepenthe,  and  the  result  was 
the  deep  sleep  or  unconsciousness  I  liked  the  least 
of  its  effects,  a  blank  passing  of  time. 

The  next  morning,  as  usual  after  such  a  debauch, 
I  was  heavy  and  depressed,  still  drowsy  but  without 
any  happiness  or  content.  I  had  often  wondered  I 
could  keep  a  maid,  for  latterly  I  was  always  either 
irritable  or  silent.  Not  mean,  however.  That  has 
never  been  one  of  my  faults,  and  may  have  been  the 
explanation.  Suzanne  asked  how  I  had  slept  and 
hoped  I  was  better,  perfunctorily,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer.  She  was  a  great  fat  heavy  French- 
woman, totally  without  sympathetic  quality.  I  told 
her  not  to  pull  up  the  blinds  nor  bring  coffee  until 
I  rang. 

"  I  am  quite  well,  but  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered. 
The  servants  must  do  the  housekeeping.  If  Dr. 
Kennedy  calls  say  I  am  too  ill  to  see  him." 

I  often  wish  one  could  have  dumb  servants.  But 
Suzanne  was  happily  lethargic  and  not  argumenta- 
tive. I  heard  afterwards  that  she  gave  my  message 
verbatim  to  the  doctor :  "  Madame  was  not  well 
enough  to  see  him,"  but  softened  it  by  a  sugges- 
tion that  I  would  perhaps  be  better  tomorrow  and 
perhaps  he  would  come  again.  His  noisy  machine 
and  unnecessary  horn  spoiled  the  morning  and 


TWILIGHT  15 

angered  me  against  Ella  for  having  brought  him 
over  me. 

I  felt  better  after  lunch  and  got  up,  making  a 
desultory  exploration  of  the  house  and  finding  my 
last  night's  impression  confirmed.  The  position 
was  lonely  without  being  secluded.  All  round  the 
house  was  the  rough  garden,  newly  made,  un- 
finished, planted  with  trees  not  yet  grown  and 
kitchen  stuff.  Everywhere  was  the  stiff  and 
prickly  gorse.  On  the  front  there  were  many 
bedrooms;  some,  like  my  own,  had  broad  balconies 
whereon  a  bed  could  be  wheeled.  The  place  had 
probably  at  one  time  been  used  as  an  open-air 
cure.  Then  Margaret  Capel  must  have  taken  it, 
altered  this  that  and  the  other,  but  failed  to  make 
a  home  out  of  what  had  been  designed  for  a 
hospital.  By  removing  a  partition  two  of  these 
bedrooms  had  been  turned  into  one.  This  one  was 
large,  oak-floored,  and  a  Steinway  grand  upon  a 
platform  dominated  one  corner.  There  was  a  big 
music  stand.  I  opened  it  and  found  no  clearance  of 
music  had  been  made.  It  was  full  and  deplorably 
untidy.  The  rest  of  the  furniture  consisted  of 
tapestry-covered  small  and  easy-chairs,  a  round 
table,  a  great  sofa  drawn  under  one  of  the  windows, 
and  some  amateur  water  colours. 

On  the  ground  floor  the  dining-room  looked 
unused  and  the  library  smelt  musty.  It  was  lined 
with  open  cupboards  or  bookcases,  the  top  shelves 


16  TWILIGHT 

fitted  with  depressing-looking  tomes  and  the  lower 
one  bulging  with  yellow-backed  novels,  old- 
fashioned  three-volume  novels,  magazines  dated  ten 
years  back,  and  an  "  olla  podrida  "  of  broken-backed 
missing-leaved  works  by  Hawley  Smart,  Mrs. 
Lovett  Cameron,  and  Charles  Lever.  Nothing  in 
either  of  these  rooms  was  reminiscent  of  Margaret 
Capel.  I  was  glad  to  get  back  to  the  drawing- 
room,  on  the  same  floor,  but  well-proportioned  and 
agreeable.  Today,  with  the  sun  out  and  my  fatigue 
partly  gone,  its  shabbiness  looked  homely  and  even 
attractive.  The  position  of  the  writing-table  again 
made  its  appeal.  Suzanne  had  unpacked  my  writ- 
ing-things and  they  stood  ready  for  arrangement, 
heaped  up  together  on  the  green  leather  top.  I  saw 
with  satisfaction  that  there  were  many  drawers 
and  that  the  table  was  both  roomy  and  convenient. 
The  view  from  the  window  was  altered  by  the 
sunlight.  The  yellow  gorse  was  still  the  most 
prominent  feature,  but  beyond  it  today  one  saw 
the  sea  more  plainly,  a  little  dim  and  hazy  in  the 
distance  but  unmistakable ;  melting  into  the  horizon. 
Today  the  sky  was  of  a  summer  blue  although  it 
was  barely  spring.  I  felt  my  courage  revive. 
Again  I  said  to  myself  that  I  could  write  here,  and 
silently  rescinded  my  intention  of  resting.  "  Work 
whilst  ye  have  the  light."  I  had  not  a  great  light, 
but  another  than  myself  to  work  for,  and  perhaps 
not  much  time. 


TWILIGHT  17 

The  gollywog  put  a  smiling  face  and  a  clean  cap 
halfway  into  the  room  and  said: 

"  Please,  ma'am,  cook  wishes  to  know  if  she  can 
speak  to  you,  and  if  you  please  there  is  no  .  .  ." 

There  tumbled  out  a  list  of  household  necessities, 
which  vexed  me  absurdly.  But  the  writing-chair 
was  comfortable  and  helped  me  through  the  nar- 
rative. The  table  was  alluring,  and  I  wanted  to 
be  alone.  Cook  arrived  before  Mary  had  finished, 
and  then  the  monologue  became  a  duet. 

"There's  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  glasses 
altogether,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
about  the  teapot.  There's  only  one  tray  .  .  ." 

"And  as  for  the  cooking  utensils,  well,  I  never 
see  such  a  lot.  And  that  dirty!  The  kitchen 
dresser  has  never  been  cleaned  out  since  the  flood, 
I  should  think.  Stuffed  up  with  dirty  cloths  and 
broken  crockery.  As  for  the  kitchen  table,  there's 
knives  without  handles  and  forks  without  prongs; 
not  a  shape  that  isn't  dented;  the  big  fish  kettle's 
got  a  hole  in  it  as  big  as  your  'and,  and  the  others 
ain't  fit  to  use.  The  pastry  board's  broke  .  .  ." 

I  wanted  to  stop  my  ears  and  tell  them  to  get 
out.  I  had  asked  for  competent  servants,  and 
understood  that  competent  servants  bought  or  hired 
whatever  was  necessary  for  their  work.  That  was 
the  way  things  were  managed  at  home.  But  then 
my  cook  had  been  with  me  for  eight  years  and  my 
housemaid  for  eleven.  They  knew  my  ways,  and 


18  TWILIGHT 

that  I  was  never  to  be  bothered  with  household 
details,  only  the  bills  were  my  affair.  And  those 
my  secretary  paid. 

"  It  was  one  of  them  there  writing  women  as  had 
the  place  last,  with  no  more  idea  of  order  than  the 
kitchen  cat,"  cook  said  indignantly,  or  perhaps 
suspiciously,  eyeing  the  writing-table.  I  had  come 
here  for  rest  and  change,  to  lead  the  simple  life, 
with  two  servants  instead  of  five  and  everything  in 
proportion.  Now  I  found  myself  giving  reckless 
orders. 

"  Buy  everything  you  want ;  there  is  sure  to  be 
a  shop  in  the  village.  If  not,  make  out  a  list,  and 
one  of  you  go  up  to  the  Stores  or  Harrod's.  If 
the  place  is  dirty  get  in  a  charwoman.  Some  one 
will  recommend  you  a  charwoman,  the  house-agent 
or  the  doctor."  I  reminded  cook  that  she  was  a 
cook-housekeeper,  but  failed  to  subdue  her. 

"  You  can't  be  cook-housekeeper  in  a  desert 
island.  I  call  it  no  better  than  a  desert  island.  I'd 
get  hold  of  that  there  house-agent  that  engaged  us 
if  I  was  you.  He  said  the  'ouse  was  well-found. 
Him  with  his  well-found  'ouse!  They're  bound 
to  give  you  what  you  need,  but  if  you  don't  mind 
expense  ..." 

Of  course  I  minded  expense,  never  more  so  than 
now  when  I  saw  the  possibility  before  me  of  a 
long  period  of  inaction.  .  .  .  But  I  minded 
other  things  more.  Household  detail  for  instance, 


TWILIGHT  19 

and  uneducated  voices.  I  compromised  and  sanc- 
tioned the  appeal  to  the  house-agent,  confirming  that 
the  irreducible  minimum  was  to  be  purchased, 
explaining  I  was  ill,  not  to  be  troubled  about  this 
sort  of  thing.  I  brushed  aside  a  few  "  buts  "  and 
finally  rid  myself  of  them.  I  caught  myself  yearn- 
ing for  Ella,  who  would  have  saved  me  this  and 
every  trouble.  Then  scorned  my  desire  to  send  for 
her  and  determined  to  be  glad  of  my  solitude,  to 
rejoice  in  my  freedom.  I  could  look  as  ill  as  I 
liked  without  comment.  I  could  sit  where  I  was 
without  attempting  to  tidy  my  belongings,  and  no 
one  would  ask  me  if  I  felt  seedy,  if  the  pain  was 
coming  on,  if  they  could  do  anything  for  me.  And 
then,  fool  that  I  was,  I  remember  tears  coming  to 
my  eyes  because  I  was  lonely,  and  sure  that  I  had 
tired  out  even  Ella's  patience.  I  wondered  how 
any  one  could  face  a  long  illness,  least  of  all  any 
one  like  me  who  loved  work,  and  above  all  independ- 
ence, freedom.  I  knew,  I  knew  even  then  that 
the  time  was  coming  when  I  could  neither  work  nor 
be  independent ;  the  shadow  was  upon  me  that  very 
first  afternoon  at  Carbies.  When  I  could  see  to 
write  I  dashed  off  a  postcard  to  Ella  telling  her  I 
was  quite  well  and  she  was  not  to  bother  about  me. 

"  I  like  the  place,  I'm  sure  I  shall  be  able  to  write 
here.  Don't  think  of  coming  down,  and  keep  the 
rest  of  the  family  off  me  if  you  can  .  .  ." 

I  spent  the  remainder  of  the  evening  weakly 


20  TWILIGHT 

longing  for  her,  and  feeling  that  she  need  not  have 
taken  me  at  my  word,  that  she  might  have  come 
with  me  although  I  urged  her  not,  that  she  should 
have  understood  me  better. 

That  night  I  took  less  nepenthe,  yet  saw 
Margaret  Capel  more  vividly.  She  stayed  a  long 
time  too.  This  time  she  wore  a  blue  peignoir,  her 
hair  down,  and  she  looked  very  young  and  girlish. 
There  were  gnomes  and  fairies  when  she  went,  and 
after  that  the  sea,  swish  and  awash  as  if  I  had  been 
upon  a  yacht.  Unconsciousness  only  came  to  me 
when  the  yacht  was  submerged  in  a  great  wave 
.  .  .  semiconsciousness. 

But  I  am  not  telling  the  story  of  my  illness.  I 
should  like  to,  but  I  fear  it  would  have  no  interest 
for  the  general  public,  or  for  the  young  people 
amongst  whom  one  looks  for  readers.  I  have  some- 
times thought  nevertheless,  both  then  and  after- 
wards, that  there  must  be  a  public  who  would  like 
to  hear  what  one  does  and  thinks  and  suffers  when 
illness  catches  one  unawares ;  and  all  life's  interests 
alter  and  narrow  down  to  temperatures  and  medi- 
cine-time, to  fighting  or  submitting  to  nurses  and 
weakness,  to  hatred  and  contempt  of  doctors,  and 
a  dumb  blind  rage  against  fate;  to  pain  and  the 
soporifics  behind  which  its  hold  tightens. 

Pineland  did  not  cure  me,  although  I  spent  hours 
in  the  open  air  and  let  my  pens  lie  resting  in  their 
case.  Under  continual  pains  I  grew  sullen  and 


TWILIGHT  21 

resentful,  always  more  ill-tempered  and  desirous  of 
solitude.  Dr.  Kennedy  called  frequently.  Some- 
times I  saw  him  and  sometimes  not,  as  the  mood 
took  me.  He  never  came  without  speaking  of  the 
former  occupant  of  the  house,  of  Margaret  Capel. 
He  seemed  to  take  very  little  personal  interest  in 
me  or  my  condition.  And  I  was  too  proud  (or 
stupid)  to  force  it  on  his  notice.  I  asked  him  once, 
crudely  enough,  if  he  had  been  in  love  with 
Margaret  Capel.  He  answered  quite  simply,  as  if 
he  had  been  a  child: 

"  One  had  no  chance.  From  the  first  I  knew 
there  was  no  chance." 

"  There  was  some  one  else  ?  " 

"  He  came  up  and  down.  I  seldom  met  him. 
Then  there  were  the  circumstances.  She  was 
between  the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute,  the  nether  and 
the  upper  stone  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now.    She  was  divorced." 

"  No,  she  was  not.  She  divorced  her  husband," 
he  answered  quite  sharply  and  a  little  distressed. 
"  Courts  of  Justice  they  are  called,  but  Courts  of 
Injustice  would  be  a  better  name.  They  put  her  to 
the  question,  on  the  rack ;  no  inquisition  could  have 
been  worse.  And  she  was  broken  by  it  .  .  ." 

"  But  there  was  some  one  else,  you  said  yourself 
there  was  some  one  else.  Probably  these  probing 
questions,  this  rack,  were  her  deserts.  Personally 
I  am  a  monogamist,"  I  retorted.  Not  that  I  was 


22  TWILIGHT 

really  narrow  or  a  Pharisee,  only  in  contentious 
mood  and  cruel  under  the  pressure  of  my  own 
harrow.  "  Probably  anything  she  suffered  served 
her  right,"  I  added  indifferently. 

"  It  all  happened  afterwards.  I  thought  you 
knew,"  he  said  incoherently. 

"  I  know  nothing  except  that  you  are  always 
talking  of  Margaret  Capel,  and  I  am  a  little  tired 
of  the  subject,"  I  answered  pettishly.  "  Who  was 
the  man?" 

"The  man!" 

"  Yes,  the  man  who  came  up  and  down  to  see 
her?" 

"Gabriel  Stanton." 

"  Gabriel  Stanton !  "  I  sat  upright  in  my  chair ; 
that  really  startled  me.  "  Gabriel  Stanton,"  I 
repeated,  and  then,  stupidly  enough :  "  Are  you 
sure?" 

"  Quite  sure.  But  I  won't  talk  about  it  any  more 
since  it  bores  you.  The  house  is  so  haunted  for  me, 
and  you  seemed  so  sympathetic,  so  interested.  You 
won't  let  me  doctor  you." 

"You  haven't  tried  very  hard,  have  you?" 

"  You  put  me  off  whenever  I  try  to  ask  you  how 
you  are,  or  any  questions." 

"  What  is  the  good  ?  I've  seen  twelve  London 
doctors." 

"  London  has  not  the  monopoly  of  talent."  He 
took  up  his  hat,  and  then  my  hand. 


TWILIGHT  23 

"Offended?"  I  asked  him. 

"  No.  But  my  partner  will  be  home  tomorrow, 
and  I'm  relinquishing  my  place  to  him.  It  is  really 
his  case." 

"  I  refuse  to  be  anybody's  case.  I've  heard  from 
the  best  authorities  that  no  one  knows  anything 
about  neuritis  and  that  it  is  practically  incurable. 
One  has  to  suffer  and  suffer.  Even  Almroth 
Wright  has  not  found  the  anti-bacilli.  Nepenthe 
gives  me  ease;  that  is  all  the  doctoring  I  want — 
ease ! " 

"  It  is  doing  you  a  lot  of  harm.  And  what  makes 
you  think  you've  got  neuritis  ?  " 

"  What  ailed  your  Margaret  ? "  I  answered 
mockingly.  "  Did  you  ever  find  that  out?  " 

"  No  .   .   .  yes.    Of  course  I  knew." 

"Did  you  ever  examine  her?"  I  was  curious 
to  know  that ;  suddenly  and  inconsequently  curious. 

"  Why  do  you  ask?  "  But  his  face  changed,  and 
I  knew  the  question  had  been  cruel  or  impertinent. 
He  let  go  my  hand  abruptly,  he  had  been  holding 
it  all  this  time.  "  I  did  all  that  any  doctor  could." 
He  was  obviously  distressed  and  I  ashamed. 

"  Don't  go  yet.  Sit  down  and  have  a  cup  of  tea 
with  me.  I've  been  here  three  weeks  and  every 
meal  has  been  solitary.  Your  Margaret" — I 
smiled  at  him  then,  knowing  he  would  not  under- 
stand— "  comes  to  me  sometimes  at  night  with  my 
nepenthe,  but  all  day  I  am  alone." 


24  TWILIGHT 

"  By  your  own  desire  then,  I  swear.  You  are 
not  a  woman  to  be  left  alone  if  you  wanted  com- 
pany." He  dropped  into  a  chair,  seemed  glad  to 
stay.  Presently  over  tea  and  crumpets,  we  were 
really  talking  of  my  illness,  and  if  I  had  permitted 
it  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  gone  into  the 
matter  more  closely.  As  it  was  he  warned  me 
solemnly  against  the  nepenthe  and  suggested  I 
should  try  codein  as  an  alternative,  a  suggestion  I 
ignored  completely,  unfortunately  for  myself. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  partner,"  I  said,  drinking 
my  tea  slowly. 

"  Oh !  you'll  like  him,  all  the  ladies  like  him.  He 
is  very  spruce  and  rather  handsome ;  dapper,  band- 
boxy.  Not  tall,  turning  grey  ..." 

"  Did  she  like  him?  "  I  persisted. 

"  She  would  not  have  him  near  her.  After  his 
first  visit  she  denied  herself  to  him  all  the  time. 
He  used  to  talk  to  me  about  her,  he  could  never 
understand  it,  he  was  not  used  to  that  sort  of  treat- 
ment, he  is  a  tremendous  favourite  about  here." 

"  What  did  she  say  of  him?  " 

"  That  he  grinned  like  a  Cheshire  cat,  talked  in 
cliches,  rubbed  his  hands  and  seemed  glad  when 
she  suffered.  He  has  a  very  cheerful  bedside 
manner;  most  people  like  it." 

"  I  quite  understand.  I  won't  have  him.  Mind 
that;  don't  send  him  to  see  me,  because  I  won't  see 
him.  I'd  rather  put  up  with  you."  I  have  explained 


TWILIGHT  25 

I  was  beyond  convention.  He  really  tried  hard  to 
persuade  me,  urged  Dr.  Lansdowne's  degrees  and 
qualifications,  his  seniority.  I  grew  angry  in  the 
end. 

"  Surely  I  need  not  have  either  of  you  if  I  don't 
want  to.  I  suppose  there  are  other  doctors  in  the 
neighbourhood." 

He  gave  me  a  list  of  the  medical  men  practising 
in  and  about  Pineland ;  it  was  not  at  all  badly  done, 
he  praised  everybody  yet  made  me  see  them  clearly. 
In  the  end  I  told  him  I  would  choose  my  own  medi- 
cal attendant  when  I  wanted  one. 

"  Am  I  dismissed,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Have  you  ever  been  summoned?"  I  answered 
in  the  same  tone. 

"  Seriously  now,  I'd  like  to  be  of  use  to  you  if 
you'd  let  me." 

"  In  order  to  retain  the  entree  to  the  house  where 
the  wonderful  Margaret  moved  and  had  her 
being?" 

"  No !  Well,  perhaps  yes,  partly.  And  you  are 
a  very  attractive  woman  yourself." 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous." 

"  It  is  quite  true.    I  expect  you  know  it." 

"  I'm  over  forty  and  ill.  I  suppose  that  is  what 
you  find  attractive,  that  I  am  ill  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  hate  hysterical  women  as 
a  rule." 

"Hysterical!" 


26  TWILIGHT 

"  With  any  form  of  nerve  disease." 

"  Do  you  really  think  I  am  suffering  from  nerve 
disease?  From  the  vapours?"  I  asked  scornfully, 
thinking  for  the  thousand  and  first  time  what  a 
fool  the  man  was. 

"  You  don't  occupy  yourself?  " 

"  I'm  one  of  the  busiest  women  on  God's  earth." 

"  I've  never  seen  you  doing  anything,  except 
sitting  at  her  writing-table  with  two  bone-dry  pens 
set  out  and  some  blank  paper.  And  you  object  to 
be  questioned  about  your  illness,  or  examined." 

"  I  hate  scientific  doctoring.  And  then  you  have 
not  inspired  me  with  confidence,  you  are  obsessed 
with  one  idea." 

"  I  can't  help  that.  From  the  first  you've 
reminded  me  of  Margaret." 

"  Oh !  damn  Margaret  Capel,  and  your  infatua- 
tion for  her!  I'm  sorry,  but  that's  the  way  I  feel 
just  now.  I  can't  escape  from  her,  the  whole  place 
is  full  of  her.  And  yet  she  hasn't  written  a  thing 
that  will  live.  I  sent  to  the  London  Library  soon 
after  I  came  and  got  all  her  books.  I  waded  through 
the  lot.  Just  epigram  and  paradox,  a  weak  Bernard 
Shaw  in  petticoats." 

"  I  never  read  a  word  she  wrote,"  he  answered 
indifferently.  "It  was  the  woman  herself  .  .  ." 

"  I  am  sure.  Well,  gocd-bye !  I  can't  talk  any 
more  tonight,  I'm  tired.  Don't  send  Dr. 
Lansdowne.  If  I  want  any  one  I'll  let  you  know/' 


TWILIGHT  27 

Margaret  came  to  me  again  that  night  when  the 
house  was  quite  silent  and  all  the  lights  out  except 
the  red  one  from  the  fire.  She  sat  in  the  easy-chair 
on  the  hearthrug,  and  for  the  first  time  I  heard  her 
speak.  She  was  very  young  and  feeble-looking, 
and  I  told  her  I  was  sorry  I  had  been  impatient  and 
said  "  damn  "  about  her. 

"  But  you  are  all  over  the  place,  you  know.  And 
I  can't  write  unless  I  am  alone.  I'm  always 
solitary  and  never  alone  here ;  you  haunt  and  obsess 
me.  Can't  you  go  away?  I  don't  mean  now.  I 
am  glad  you  are  here  now,  and  talking.  Tell  me 
about  Dr.  Kennedy.  Did  you  care  for  him  at  all? 
Did  you  know  he  was  in  love  with  you?  " 

"  Peter  Kennedy !  No,  I  never  thought  about 
him  at  all,  not  until  the  end.  Then  he  was  very 
kind,  or  cruel.  He  did  what  I  asked  him.  You 
know  why  I  obsess  you,  don't  you?  It  used  to  be 
just  the  same  with  me  when  a  subject  was  evolving. 
You  are  going  to  write  my  story;  you  will  do  it 
better  in  a  way  than  I  could  have  done  it  myself, 
although  worse  in  another.  I  have  left  you  all  the 
material." 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  You  haven't  found  it  yet.  I  put  it  together 
myself,  the  day  Gabriel  sent  back  my  letters.  You 
will  have  my  diary  and  a  few  notes  ..." 

"Where?" 

"  In  a  drawer  in  the  writing-table.     But  it  is 


28  TWILIGHT 

only  half  there.  .  .  .  You  will  have  to  add  to 
it." 

"  I  see  you  quite  well  when  I  keep  my  eyes  shut. 
If  I  open  them  the  room  sways  and  you  are  not 
there.  Why  should  I  write  your  life?  I  am  no 
historian,  only  a  novelist." 

"  I  know,  but  you  are  on  the  spot,  with  all  the 
material  and  local  colour.  You  know  Gabriel  too; 
we  used  to  speak  about  you." 

"  He  is  no  admirer  of  mine." 

"  No.  He  is  a  great  stylist,  and  you  have  no 
sense  of  style." 

"  Nor  you  of  anything  else,"  I  put  in  rudely, 
hastily. 

"  A  harsh  judgment,  characteristic.  You  are  a 
blunt  realist,  I  should  say,  hard  and  a  little  un- 
womanly, calling  a  spade  by  its  ugliest  name; 
but  sentimental  with  pen  in  hand  you  really  do 
write  abominably  sometimes.  But  you  will  remind 
the  world  of  me  again.  I  don't  want  to  be  forgotten. 
I  would  rather  be  misrepresented  than  forgotten. 
There  are  so  few  geniuses!  Keats  and  I  ... 
Don't  go  to  sleep." 

I  could  not  help  it,  however.  Several  times  after 
that,  whenever  I  remembered  something  I  wished 
to  ask  her,  and  opened  dulled  eyes,  she  was  not 
there  at  all.  The  chair  where  she  had  sat  was 
empty,  and  the  fire  had  died  down  to  dull  ash. 
I  drowsed  and  dreamed.  In  my  dreams  I  achieved 


TWILIGHT  29 

style,  an  ambient,  exquisite  style,  and  wrote  about 
Margaret  Capel  and  Gabriel  Stanton  so  glowingly 
and  convincingly  that  all  the  world  wept  for  them 
and  wondered,  and  my  sales  ran  into  hundreds  of 
thousands. 

"  We  have  always  expected  great  things  of  this 
author,  but  she  has  transcended  our  highest  expecta- 
tions .  .  ."  The  reviews  were  all  on  this  scale. 
For  the  remainder  of  that  night  no  writer  in 
England  was  as  famous  as  I.  Publishers  and 
literary  agents  hung  round  my  doorsteps  and  I 
rejected  marvellous  offers.  If  I  had  not  been  so 
thirsty  and  my  mouth  dry,  no  one  could  have  been 
happier,  but  the  dryness  and  thirst  woke  me  contin- 
uously, and  I  execrated  Suzanne  for  having  put 
the  water  bottle  out  of  my  reach,  and  forgotten  to 
supply  me  with  acid  drops.  I  remember  grumbling 
about  it  to  Margaret. 


CHAPTER  II 

I  BEGAN  the  search  for  those  letters  the  very  next 
day,  knowing  how  absurd  it  was,  as  if  one  were 
still  a  child  who  expected  to  find  the  pot  of  gold 
at  the  end  of  the  rainbow.  I  made  Suzanne  telephone 
to  Dr.  Kennedy  that  I  was  much  better  and  would 
prefer  he  did  not  call.  I  really  wanted  to  be  alone, 
to  make  my  search  complete,  not  to  be  interrupted. 
If  it  were  not  true  that  I  was  better,  at  least  I  was 
no  worse,  only  heavy  and  dull  in  body  and  mind, 
every  movement  an  almost  unbearable  fatigue. 
Nevertheless  I  sat  down  with  determination  at  the 
writing-table,  intent  on  opening  every  drawer  and 
cupboard,  calling  to  Suzanne  to  help  me,  on  the 
pretence  of  wanting  white  paper  to  line  the  drawers, 
and  a  duster  to  clean  them.  In  reality,  that 
she  should  do  the  stooping  instead  of  me.  But 
everywhere  was  emptiness  or  dust.  I  crawled  to 
the  music  room  after  lunch  and  tried  my  luck 
there,  amid  the  heaped  disorderly  music,  but  there 
too  the  search  proved  unavailing.  It  was  no  use 
going  downstairs  again,  so  I  went  to  bed,  before 
dinner,  passing  a  white  night  with  red  pain  points, 
beyond  the  reach  even  of  nepenthe.  I  had  counted 

30 


TWILIGHT  31 

on  seeing  Margaret  Capel  again,  getting  fuller 
instructions,  but  was  disappointed  in  that  also. 

The  next  day  and  many  others  were  equally  full 
and  equally  empty.  I  looked  in  unlikely  places  until 
I  was  tired  out;  dragging  about  my  worn-out  body 
that  had  been  whipped  into  a  pretence  of  activity 
by  my  driving  brain.  Dr.  Kennedy  came  and 
went,  talking  spasmodically  of  Margaret  Capel, 
watching  me,  I  thought  sometimes,  with  puzzled 
enquiring  eyes.  My  family  in  London  was  duly 
informed  how  well  I  was,  and  the  good  that  the 
rest  and  solitude  were  doing  me.  I  felt  horribly 
ill,  and  towards  the  end  of  my  second  week  gave 
up  seeking  for  Margaret  Capel's  letters  or  papers. 
I  was  still  intent  upon  writing  her  story,  but  had 
made  up  my  mind  now  to  compile  it  from  the  facts 
I  could  persuade  or  force  from  Dr.  Kennedy,  from 
old  newspaper  reports,  and  other  sources.  It  was 
borne  in  upon  me  that  to  go  on  with,  my  work  was 
the  only  way  to  save  myself  from  what  I  now 
thought  was  mental  as  well  as  physical  breakdown. 
I  saw  Margaret  elusively,  was  never  quite  free  from 
the  sense  that  I  was  not  alone.  The  chills  that 
ran  through  me  meant  that  she  was  behind  me; 
the  hot  flushes  that  she  was  about  to  materialise. 
In  normal  times  I  was  the  most  dogmatic  disbeliever 
in  the  occult;  but  now  I  believed  Carbies  to  be 
haunted. 

When  I  was  able  to  think  soundly  and  consecu- 


32  TWILIGHT 

tively,  I  began  to  piece  together  what  little  I  knew 
of  these  two  people  by  whom  I  was  obsessed.  For 
it  was  not  only  Margaret,  but  Gabriel  Stanton 
whom  I  felt,  or  suspected,  about  the  house.  Stanton 
&  Co.  were  my  own  publishers.  I  had  not  known 
them  as  Margaret  Capel's.  Gabriel  was  not  the 
member  of  the  firm  I  saw  when  I  made  my  rare 
calls  in  Greyfriars'  Square.  He  was  understood 
to  be  occupied  only  with  the  classical  works  issued  by 
the  well-known  house.  Somewhere  or  other  I  had 
heard  that  he  had  achieved  a  great  reputation  at 
Oxford  and  knew  more  about  Greek  roots  than 
any  living  authority.  On  the  few  occasions  we 
met  I  had  felt  him  antagonistic  or  contemptuous. 
He  would  come  into  the  room  where  I  was  talking 
to  Sir  George  and  back  out  again  quickly,  saying  he 
was  sorry,  or  that  he  did  not  know  his  cousin  was 
engaged.  Sir  George  introduced  us  more  than 
once,  but  Mr.  Gabriel  Stanton  always  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  the  circumstance.  I  remembered 
him  as  a  tall  thin  man,  with  deep-set  eyes  and 
sunken  mouth,  a  gentleman,  as  all  the  Stantons 
were,  but  as  different  as  possible  from  his  genial 
partner.  I  had,  I  have,  a  soft  spot  in  my  heart  for 
Sir  George  Stanton,  and  had  met  with  much  kind- 
ness from  him.  Gabriel,  too,  may  have  had  a  charm 
— they  were  notoriously  a  charming  family, — but 
he  had  not  exerted  it  for  my  benefit.  He  and  all  of 
them  were  so  respectable,  so  traditionally  and 


TWILIGHT  33 

inalienably  respectable,  that  it  was  difficult  to 
readjust  my  slowly  working  mind  and  think  of  him 
as  any  woman's  lover;  illegitimate  lover,  as  he 
seemed  to  be  in  this  case.  I  wrote  to  my  secretary 
in  London  to  look  up  everything  that  was  known 
about  Margaret  Capel.  Before  her  reply  came  I 
had  another  attack  of  pleurisy — I  had  had  several 
in  London, — and  this  brought  Ella  to  me,  to  say 
nothing  of  various  hungry  and  impotent  London 
consultants. 

As  I  said  before,  this  is  not  a  history  of  my 
illness,  nor  of  my  sister's  encompassing  love  that 
ultimately  enabled  me  to  weather  it,  that  forced 
me  again  and  again  from  the  arms  of  Death,  that 
friend  for  whom  at  times  my  weakness  yearned. 
The  fight  was  all  from  the  outside.  As  for  me,  I 
laid  down  my  weapons  early.  I  dreaded  pain  more 
than  death,  and  do  still,  the  passing  through  and 
not  the  arrival,  writhing  under  the  shame  of  my 
beaten  body,  wanting  to  hide.  Yet  publicity  beat 
upon  me,  streamed  into  the  room  like  midday  sun. 
There  were  bulletins  in  the  papers  and  the  Press 
Association  rang  up  and  asked  for  late  and  early 
news.  Obituary  notices  were  probably  being  pre- 
pared. Everybody  knew  that  at  which  I  was  still 
only  guessing.  It  irked  me  sometimes  to  know  they 
would  be  only  paragraphs  and  not  columns,  and  I 
knew  Ella  would  be  vexed. 

When   the   acuteness   of   this   particular   attack 


34  TWILIGHT 

subsided  I  thought  again  of  Margaret  Capel  and 
Gabriel  Stanton,  yet  could  not  talk  of  them.  For 
Ella  knew  nothing  of  the  former  occupants  of  the 
house,  and  for  some  inexplicable  reason  Dr. 
Kennedy  had  left  off  coming.  His  partner,  or  sub- 
stitute, whose  Cheshire-cat  grin  I  easily  recognised, 
made  no  secret,  notwithstanding  his  cheerfulness, 
of  the  desperate  view  he  took  of  my  condition.  I 
hated  his  futile  fruitless  examinations,  the  consulta- 
tions whereat  I  was  sure  he  aired  his  provincial 
self-importance,  his  great  cool  hands  on  my 
pulse  and  smug  dogmatic  ignorance.  "  The  pain  is 
just  here,"  he  would  announce,  but  not  even  by 
accident  did  he  ever  once  hit  upon  the  right 
spot. 

Fortunately  Ella  was  there.  She  must  have 
arrived  many  days  before  I  recognised  her.  The 
household  was  moving  on  oiled  wheels,  my  meals 
were  brought  me  now  on  trays  with  delicate  napery 
and  a  flower  or  two.  Scent  sprays  and  early  straw- 
berries, down  pillows  and  Jaegar  sheets,  a  water 
bed  presently,  and  all  the  luxuries,  told  me  undeni- 
ably she  was  in  the  vicinity.  I  had  always  known 
how  it  would  be.  That  once  I  admitted  to  helpless- 
ness she  would  give  up  her  home  life  and  all  the  joys 
of  her  well-filled  days,  and  would  live  for  me  only. 
Because  her  tenderness  for  me  met  mine  for  her  and 
was  too  poignant  for  my  growing  weakness,  I  had 
denied  us  both.  Her  the  joy  of  giving  and  myself 


TWILIGHT  35 

of  taking.  Now,  without  acknowledgment  or  word 
of  gratitude,  I  accepted  all. 

"  Don't  go  away,"  were  the  first  words  I  said 
to  her.  I !  who  had  begged  her  so  hard  not  to 
come,  repudiated  her  anxiety  so  violently. 

"Of  course  not.  Why  should  I ?  I  always  like 
the  country  in  the  early  spring,"  she  answered 
coolly.  "  Do  you  want  anything  ?  "  She  came 
nearer  to  the  bed. 

"  What  has  become  of  Dr.  Kennedy  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  like  him.  Suzanne  told 
me  that  often  you  would  not  see  him  when  he  called. 
And  you  were  quite  right.  It  was  evident  he  did 
not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  you." 

"  No  one  does." 

"  You  have  not  helped  us."  Her  eyelids  were 
pink,  but  otherwise  she  did  not  reproach  me. 

"  And  now  I  am  going  to  die,  I  suppose." 

"  Die !  You  are  not  going  to  die ;  don't  be  so 
absurd.  I  wouldn't  let  you,  for  one  thing.  And 
why  should  you?  People  don't  die  of  pleurisy,  or 
neuritis.  You  are  better  today  than  you  were  yes- 
terday, and  you  will  be  better  still  tomorrow.  I 
know." 

Outside  the  room  she  may  have  wept,  for,  as  I 
said,  her  eyelids  were  pink.  Inside  it  she  was  all 
quiet  confidence  and  courage. 

"  I  want  Dr.  Kennedy.    Get  him  back  to  me."    I 


36  TWILIGHT 

did  not  argue  with  her  whether  I  would  live  or 
die,  it  was  too  futile. 

"This  man  Lansdowne  is  F.R.C.S.  and  M.D. 
London,"  she  reminded  me. 

"  I  don't  care  if  he's  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet. 
He  grins  at  me,  talks  smugly,  patronises  me,  pats 
my  shoulder.  He  will  send  his  carriage  to  follow 
the  funeral.  I  see  in  his  face  that  he  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  it." 

Nurse  interfered  and  said  that  Dr.  Lansdowne 
was  most  able. 

"  Send  her  out  of  the  room."  I  was  impatient 
at  her  interference. 

"  All  right,  nurse,  I'll  sit  with  Mrs.  Vevaseur 
until  you've  had  your  dinner.  You  won't  talk  too 
much  ?  "  she  said  to  me  imploringly. 

"  Perhaps,"  I  answered,  and  smiled.  It  was 
good  to  have  Ella  sitting  with  me  again. 

"  The  doctor  did  not  wish  her  to  speak  at  all,  nor 
to  see  visitors." 

I  don't  know  how  Ella  managed  to  get  that 
authoritative  white-capped  female  out  of  the 
room,  but  she  did ;  she  had  infinite  tact  and  re- 
source. 

"  Shall  I  get  my  needlework  ?  Or  would  you 
rather  I  read  to  you  ?  You  really  mustn't  talk." 

"  Neither.    You  are  not  going  away  ?  " 

"  I  am  staying  as  long  as  you  want  me." 

Not  a  word  about  the  times  when  I  had  told  her 


TWILIGHT  37 

brutally  to  let  me  alone,  when  I  had  almost  turned 
her  out  of  the  house  in  London,  finally  fled  from 
her  here.  That  was  Ella  all  over,  and  characteristic 
of  me  that  I  could  not  even  thank  her.  When  she 
said  she  would  stay  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true. 
I  questioned  her  about  her  responsibilities. 

"  What  about  Violet  and  Tommy,  the  paper  ?  " 
For  Ella,  too,  was  bound  on  the  Ixion  wheel  of  the 
weekly  press. 

"  It's  all  right ;  everything  has  been  arranged,  in 
the  best  possible  way.  I  am  quite  free.  I  shan't  go 
away  until  you  ask  me  to  go." 

Then  I  began  to  cry,  in  my  great  weakness,  but 
hid  my  eyes,  for  I  knew  my  tears  would  hurt  her. 
I  gave  way  only  for  a  moment.  It  was  such  a  relief 
to  know  her  there,  to  feel  I  was  being  cared  for. 
Paid  service  is  only  for  the  sound. 

Ella  pretended  not  to  notice  my  little  breakdown, 
although  she  was  not  far  off  it  herself.  She  began 
to  talk  of  indifferent  things.  Who  had  telegraphed, 
or  rung  up ;  she  told  me  that  the  news  of  my  illness 
had  been  in  the  papers.  All  my  good  friends  whom 
I  had  avoided  during  those  dreary  months  had  for- 
gotten they  had  been  snubbed  and  came  forward  with 
genuine  sympathy  and  offers  of  help.  I  soon 
stopped  her  from  telling  me  about  them.  It  made 
me  feel  ashamed  and  unworthy.  I  could  not  recol- 
lect ever  having  done  anything  for  anybody. 

"About  getting  Dr.  Kennedy  back?" 


38  TWILIGHT 

"  He  neglected  you  disgracefully ;  wrote  me 
lightly.  I  don't  wonder  you  told  him  not  to  call." 

"  I  want  him  back." 

"  Then  you  shall  have  him  back.  You  shall  have 
everything  you  want,  only  go  on  getting  better." 
She  turned  her  face  away  from  me. 

"Have  I  begun?" 

She  made  no  answer,  and  I  knew  it  was  because 
she  could  not  at  the  moment  command  her  voice. 

So  I  stayed  quiet  a  little  while.  Then  I  began 
again  to  beg  her  to  rid  me  of  Lansdowne. 

"  After  all,  he  is  independent  of  his  profession," 
she  said  at  length  thoughtfully,  thinking  of  his 
feelings  and  how  not  to  hurt  them.  "  He  married 
a  rich  woman." 

"  He  would.  And  I  am  sure  he  has  no  children," 
I  answered. 

"  Good  heavens !  How  did  you  know  ?  You  are 
cleverer  when  you  are  ill  than  other  people  when 
they  are  well." 

That  is  like  Ella,  too,  she  has  an  exaggerated  and 
absurd  opinion  of  my  talent.  Just  because  I  write 
novels  which  are  paid  for  beyond  their  deserts ! 

I  don't  know  how  she  did  it,  I  don't  know  how 
she  accomplished  half  of  the  magical  wonderful 
things  she  did  for  my  comfort  all  that  sad  time. 
But  I  was  not  even  surprised,  a  few  days  later, 
when  I  really  was  better  and  sitting  up  in  bed; 
propped  up  by  pillows,  I  admit,  but  still  actually 


TWILIGHT  39 

sitting  up;  that  Dr.  Kennedy,  tall  and  unaltered, 
with  the  same  light  in  his  eye,  even  the  same  dread- 
ful country  suit,  lounged  in  and  sat  on  the  chair 
by  my  side.  Ella  went  away  when  he  came  in,  she 
always  had  an  idea  that  patients  like  to  see  their 
doctors  alone.  She  flirts  with  hers,  I  think.  She 
is  incurably  flirtatious  in  her  leisure  hours. 

"  You've  had  a  bad  time,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  You  didn't  try  to  make  it  any  better,"  I 
answered  weakly. 

"  Oh !  I !  I  was  dismissed.  Your  sister  turned 
me  out.  She  said  I  hadn't  recognised  how  ill  you 
were.  I  told  her  she  was  quite  right.  I  didn't  tell 
her  how  often  you  had  refused  to  see  me." 

"  Did  you  know  how  ill  I  was  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  sure."  He  smiled,  and  so  did  I. 
"Were  you  so  ill?" 

"  I  know  now  what  Margaret  Capel  felt  about 
Dr.  Lansdowne." 

"  He  is  a  very  able  fellow.  And  you've  had 
Felton,  Shorter,  Lawson." 

"Don't  remind  me." 

"  Anyway  you  are  getting  better  now." 

"  Am  I  ?    I  am  so  hideously  weak." 

"  Not  beginning  to  write  again  yet !  You  see,  I 
know  all  about  you  now.  I've  taken  a  course  of 
your  novels." 

'  Thinking    all    the    time    how    much    better 
Margaret  Capel  wrote  ?  " 


40  TWILIGHT 

"You  haven't  forgotten  Margaret,  then?" 

"  Have  you? "  He  became  quite  grave  and 
pale. 

"  I !    I  shall  never  forget  Margaret  Capel." 

Up  till  then  he  had  been  light  and  airy  in  manner, 
as  if  this  visit  and  circumstance  and  poor  me,  who 
had  been  so  near  the  Gates,  were  of  little  conse- 
quence. 

"  Did  you  think  how  much  worse  I  wrote  than 
she  did,  that  I  was  no  stylist?  " 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

I  was  glad  to  see  him  and  wished  to  keep  him  by 
my  side.  I  thought  what  I  was  going  to  tell  him 
would  secure  my  object. 

"  She  told  me  so  herself  "  I  shot  at  him,  and 
watched  to  see  how  he  would  take  it.  "  The  last 
time  I  saw  you,  the  night  the  pleurisy  started,  she 
sat  over  there  by  the  fireside.  We  talked  together 
confidentially,  she  said  she  knew  I  would  write  her 
story,  and  was  sorry  because  I  had  no  style."  There 
was  a  flush  on  his  forehead,  he  looked  to  where  I 
said  she  sat. 

"  What  else  did  she  say?  "  He  did  not  seem  to 
doubt  me  or  to  be  surprised. 

"  You  believe  I  saw  her,  that  it  was  not  a 
dream  ?  " 

"  There  is  an  unexplored  borderland  between 
dreams  and  reality.  Fever  often  bridges  it.  Your 
temperature  was  probably  high.  And  I,  and  you, 


TWILIGHT  41 

were  so  full  of  her.  Go  on.  Tell  me  what  she 
wore." 

"  She  was  dressed  in  grey,  a  white  fichu  over 
her  shoulders." 

"  And  a  pink  rose." 

"Her  hair  ..." 

"  Was  snooded  with  a  blue  ribbon."  He  finished 
my  sentences  excitedly. 

"  No.     It  was  hanging  in  plaits." 

"  Oh,  no !  Not  when  she  wore  the  grey  dress." 
He  had  risen  and  was  standing  by  the  bed  now, 
he  seemed  anxious,  almost  imploring.  "  Think 
again.  Shut  your  eyes  and  think  again.  Surely  she 
had  the  blue  ribbon." 

I  shut  my  eyes  as  he  bade  me.  Then  opened 
them  and  stared  at  him. 

"  But  how  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  Go  on.    There  was  a  blue  ribbon  in  her  hair?  " 

"  The  first  time  I  saw  her.  The  next  time  her 
hair  was  hanging  down  her  back,  two  great  plaits 
of  fair  hair,  and  she  had  on  a  blue  dressing- 
gown." 

"  With  a  white  collar  like  a  fine  handkerchief, 
showing  her  slender  throat." 

"  How  well  you  knew  her  clothes." 

"There  was  a  sense  of  fitness  about  her,  an 
exquisite  sense  of  fitness.  She  would  not  have  worn 
her  hair  down  with  that  grey  dress." 

"  You  know  I  really  did  see  her." 


42  TWILIGHT 

"Of  course.  Go  on.  Tell  me  exactly  what  she 
said,  word  for  word." 

"  About  my  bad  style." 

"  About  your  good  sense  of  comradeship  with 
her." 

"  She  said  I  would  write  the  story.  Hers  and 
Gabriel  Stanton's." 

I  told  him  all  she  had  said,  word  for  word  as  well 
as  I  could  remember  it,  keeping  my  eyes  shut, 
speaking  slowly,  remembering  well. 

"  She  told  me  of  the  letters  and  diary,  the  notes, 
chapter  headings,  all  she  had  prepared.  ..." 

I  turned  my  head  away,  sank  down  amongst  the 
pillows,  and  turned  my  head  away.  I  didn't  want 
him  to  see  my  disappointment,  to  know  that  I  had 
found  nothing.  Now  I  recognised  my  weakness, 
that  I  was  spent  with  feverish  nights  and  pain. 

"  I  can't  talk  any  more."  He  put  his  hand  upon 
my  pulse. 

"  Your  pulse  is  quite  strong." 

"  I  am  not,"  I  said  shortly.  I  wished  Ella  would 
come  back. 

"  You  looked  for  them?  "    I  did  not  answer. 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  Blundering  fool  that  I  am.  You 
looked,  and  looked  .  .  .  that  is  why  you  kept 
me  at  arm's  length,  would  not  see  me,  wanted  to 
be  alone.  You  were  searching.  Why  didn't  I  think 
of  it  before  ?  .  But  how  did  I  know  she  would  come 
to  you,  confide  in  you  ?  " 


TWILIGHT  43 

He  was  talking  to  himself  now,  seemed  to  forget 
me  and  my  grave  illness.  "  I  might  have  thought 
of  it  though.  From  the  first  I  pictured  you  two 
together.  I  have  them.  I  took  them  .  .  .  didn't 
you  guess  ?  "  I  forgot  the  extreme  weakness  of 
which  I  had  complained,  and  caught  hold  of  his 
coat  sleeve,  a  little  breathless. 

"You  took  them   .   .   .    stole  them?" 

"  Yes.  If  you  put  it  that  way.  Who  had  a 
better  right  ?  I  knew  everything.  Her  father,  her 
people,  nothing,  or  very  little.  And  she  had  not 
wished  them  to  know." 

"  She  was  going  to  write  the  story,  whatever  it 
was;  to  publish  it." 

"  No !  not  immediately,  not  until  long  afterwards, 
not  until  it  would  hurt  no  one.  They  were  in  the 
writing-table  drawer,  the  letters,  in  an  elastic  band. 
She  was  not  tidy  as  a  rule  with  papers,  but  these 
were  tidy.  The  diary  was  bound  in  soft  grey  leather, 
and  there  were  a  few  rough  notes;  loose,  on  MS. 
paper.  You  know  all  that  happened  there;  the 
excitement  was  intense.  How  could  I  bear  her 
papers,  his  letters,  her  notes  to  fall  into  strange 
hands.  I  was  doing  what  she  would  wish,  I  knew 
I  was  carrying  out  her  wishes.  The  day  she  .  .  . 
she  died  I  gathered  them  all  together,  slipped  them 
into  my  greatcoat  pocket ;  the  car  was  at  the  door. 
I  hurried  away  as  if  I  had  been  a  thief,  the  thief 
you  are  thinking  me." 


44  TWILIGHT 

"  Got  home  quickly,  gloated  over  them  all  that 
evening." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  I  swear  to  you  I  have  never 
opened  the  packet.  I  have  never  looked  at  them. 
I  made  one  parcel  of  them  all,  of  the  letters,  diary, 
notes;  wrapped  them  all  together  in  brown  paper, 
tied  it  up  with  string,  sealed  it. 

"  You've  got  it  still !  "  I  was  in  high  excitement, 
all  my  pulses  throbbing,  face  flushed,  hands  hot, 
breathless. 

"'  In  the  safe  at  my  bank.  I  took  it  there  the 
next  morning." 

"  You  are  going  to  give  me  the  packet?  " 

"  But  of  course."  He  seemed  suddenly  to 
recollect  that  I  was  an  invalid,  that  he  was  supposed 
to  be  my  doctor.  "  I  say,  all  this  excitement  is  very 
bad  for  you.  Your  sister  will  turn  me  out  again. 
Can't  you  lie  down,  get  quiet, — you've  jumped  from 
90  to  112."  His  hand  was  on  my  pulse  again.  I 
knew  I  was  going  beyond  my  tether  and  cursed  my 
weakness. 

"  You  won't  change  your  mind !  "  I  was  lying 
on  my  back  now,  quite  still,  trying  to  quiet  myself 
as  he  had  told  me.  "  Promise !  " 

"  I'll  get  the  packet  in  the  morning,  as  soon  as 
the  bank  is  open,  and  come  straight  on  here  with 
it.  You  must  find  some  place  to  put  it.  Where  you 
can  see  it,  know  it's  there  all  the  time.  But  you 


TWILIGHT  45 

mustn't  open  it,  you  must  get  stronger  first.  You 
know  you  can't  use  it  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  can." 

"  It  would  be  very  wrong.  You  wouldn't  do 
it  well." 

"  I'm  sick  of  being  ordered  about."  But  I  could 
barely  move  and  breathing  was  becoming  difficult 
to  me,  I  had  a  sense  of  faintness,  suffocation,  the 
room  grew  dark.  He  opened  the  door  and  called 
nurse.  Ella  came  in  with  her.  I  was  conscious 
of  that. 

"  What  does  she  have  when  she  is  like  this  ? 
Smelling  salts,  brandy  ?  "  Nurse  began  to  fan  me ; 
my  cheeks  were  very  flushed. 

Ella  opened  the  windows,  wide,  quietly ;  the  scent 
of  the  gorse  came  in.  I  did  not  want  to  speak,  only 
to  be  able  to  breathe. 

Nurse  telegraphed  him  an  enquiring  glance. 
Strychnine?  her  dumb  lips  asked.  He  shook  his 
head. 

"  Oxygen.  Have  you  got  a  cylinder  of  oxygen 
in  the  house?"  He  took  the  pillows  from  under 
my  head. 

I  don't  know  what  they  tried  or  left  untried. 
Whenever  I  opened  my  eyes  I  sought  for  Ella's.  I 
knew  she  would  not  let  them  do  anything  to  me  that 
might  bring  the  pain  back.  I  was  only  overtired. 
I  managed  to  say  so  presently.  When  I  was  really 
better  and  Dr.  Kennedy  gone,  Ella  said  a  bitter  word 


46  TWILIGHT 

or  two  about  him.  Nurse  too  thought  she  should 
have  been  called  sooner.  A  good  nurse,  but  dissatis- 
fied up  to  now  with  all  my  treatment,  with  my 
change  of  doctors,  with  my  resistance  to  authority, 
and  Ella's  interference. 

"  Ella."  She  had  been  sitting  by  the  fire  but 
came  over  to  me  at  once. 

"  What  is  it  ?  I  am  only  going  to  stop  a  minute. 
Then  I  shall  leave  you  to  nurse.  That  man  stopped 
too  long,  over-excited  you.  We  mustn't  have  him 
again,  he  doesn't  understand  you." 

"Yes  he  does;  perfectly."  My  voice  may  have 
been  faint,  but  I  succeeded  in  making  it  urgent. 
"  Ella,  I  want  to  see  him  again  in  the  morning, 
nothing  must  prevent  it,  nothing.  Don't  talk  against 
him,  I  want  him." 

"  Then  you  snail  have  him,"  she  decided  promptly. 
Notwithstanding  my  terrible  weakness  and  want  of 
breath  I  smiled  at  her. 

"  I  suppose  you've  fallen  in  love  with  him,"  she 
said.  Love  and  love-making  were  half  her  life,  the 
game  she  found  most  fascinating.  They  were  noth- 
ing to  do  with  mine. 

"  See  that  he  comes.  That's  all.  However  ill 
I  am,  whether  I'm  ill  or  not,  he  is  to  come." 

"  You  noticed  his  clothes  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!" 

Nurse  I  suppose  thought  we  had  both  gone  mad. 
But  she  came  over  to  me  and  lifted  me  into  a  more 


TWILIGHT  47 

comfortable  position,  fanned  me  again,  and  when 
the  fanning  had  done  its  work  brought  eau  de 
Cologne  and  water  and  sponged  my  face,  my  hot 
hands.  She  told  Ella  that  she  ought  to  go,  that  I 
ought  to  be  alone,  that  I  should  have  a  bad  night  if 
I  were  not  left  to  myself.  Ella  only  wanted  to  do 
what  was  best  for  me. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right,  nurse.  I  shan't  come 
in  again.  Sleep  well." 

"  You  are  sure?  " 

"  Quite  sure  that  Dr.  Kennedy  shall  come  in  the 
morning,  if  I  have  to  drag  him  here.  It's  a  pity 
you  will  have  an  executioner  instead  of  a, doctor; 
he  seems  to  do  you  harm  every  time  he  comes.  You 
had  your  worst  attack  when  he  was  here  before. 
Good-night.  I  do  wish  you  had  better  taste." 

She  kept  her  light  tone  up  to  the  last,  although  I 
saw  she  was  pale  with  anxiety  and  sympathy.  Days 
ago  she  had  asked  me  if  the  nurses  were  good  and 
kind  to  me,  and  if  I  liked  them,  and  had  received 
my  assurance  that  this  one  at  least  was  the  best 
I  had  ever  had,  clever  and  untiring.  If  only  she  had 
not  been  so  sure  of  herself  and  that  she  knew  better 
than  I  did  what  was  good  for  me,  I  should  have 
thought  her  perfect.  She  had  a  delightful  voice, 
never  touched  me  unnecessarily,  nor  brushed  against 
the  bed.  But  she  was  younger  than  I,  and  I  resented 
her  authority.  We  were  often  in  antagonism,  for 
I  was  a  bad  invalid,  in  resistance  all  the  time.  I  had 


48  TWILIGHT 

not  learnt  yet  how  to  be  ill !  The  lesson  was  taught 
me  slowly,  cruelly,  but  I  recognised  Benham's 
quality  long  before  I  gave  in  to  her.  Now  I  was 
glad  that  Ella  should  go,  that  nurse  should  minister 
to  me  alone.  I  wanted  the  night  to  come  .  .  .  and 
go.  But  my  exhaustion  was  so  complete  that  I  had 
forgotten  why. 


CHAPTER  III 

I  SEEM  to  be  a  long  time  coming  to  the  story,  but 
my  own  will  intervene,  my  own  dreadful  tale  of 
dependence  and  deepening  illness.  Benham  was  my 
day  nurse.  At  ten  o'clock  that  night  she  left  me, 
considerably  better  and  calm.  Then  Lakeby  came 
on  duty,  a  very  inferior  person  who  always  talked 
to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child  to  be  humoured :  "  Now 
then  be  a  dear  good  girl  and  drink  it  up  "  represents 
her  fairly  well.  Then  she  would  yawn  in  my  face 
without  apology  or  attempt  to  hide  her  fatigue  or 
boredom.  Nepenthe  and  I  were  no  longer  friends. 
It  gave  me  no  ease,  yet  I  drank  it  to  save  argument. 
Lakeby  took  away  the  glass  and  then  lay  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  I  thought  again,  as  I  had 
thought  so  many  times,  that  no  one  ever  sleeps  so 
soundly  as  a  night  nurse.  I  could  indulge  my  rest- 
lessness without  any  fear  of  disturbing  her.  To- 
morrow's promised  excitement  would  not  let  me 
sleep.  Their  letters,  the  very  letters  they  had  written 
to  each  other!  I  did  not  care  so  much  about  the 
diary.  I  had  once  kept  a  diary  myself  and  knew 
how  one  leaves  out  all  the  essentials.  I  suppose  I 
drowsed  a  little.  Nepenthe  was  no  longer  my 
friend,  but  we  were  not  enemies,  only  disappointed 

49 


50  TWILIGHT 

lovers,  without  reliance  on  each  other.  As  I 
approached  the  borderland  I  wished  Margaret  were 
in  her  easy-chair  by  the  fireside.  I  did  not  care 
whether  she  was  in  her  grey,  or  with  her  plaits  and 
peignoir.  I  watched  for  her  in  vain.  I  knew  she 
would  not  come  whilst  nurse  snored  on  the  sofa. 
Ella  would  have  to  get  rid  of  the  nurse  from  my 
room.  Surely  now  that  I  was  better  I  could  sleep 
alone,  a  bell  could  be  fixed  up.  Two  nurses  were 
unnecessary,  extravagant.  I  woke  to  cough  and  was 
conscious  of  a  strange  sensation.  I  turned  on  the 
light  by  my  side,  but  then  only  roused  the  nurse 
(she  had  slept  all  day)  with  difficulty.  I  knew  what 
had  happened,  although  this  was  the  first  time  it 
had  happened  to  me,  and  wanted  to  reassure  her  or 
myself.  Also  to  tell  her  what  to  do. 

"  Get  ice.  Call  Benham ;  ring  up  the  doctor."  This 
was  my  first  haemorrhage,  very  profuse  and  alarm- 
ing, and  Lakeby  although  she  was  inferior  was  not 
inefficient.  When  she  was  really  roused  she  carried 
out  my  instructions  to  the  letter.  Once  Benham 
was  in  the  room  I  knew  at  least  I  was  in  good  hands. 
I  begged  them  not  to  rouse  the  house  more  than 
necessary,  not  to  call  Ella. 

"  Don't  you  speak  a  word.  Lie  quite  still.  We 
know  exactly  what  is  to  be  done.  Mrs.  Lovegrove 
won't  be  disturbed,  nor  anybody  if  you  will  only  do 
what  you  are  told." 

Benham's  voice  changed   in   an   emergency;   it 


TWILIGHT  51 

was  always  a  beautiful  voice  if  a  little  hard;  now 
it  was  gentle,  soft,  and  her  whole  manner  altered. 
She  had  me  and  the  situation  completely  under  her 
control,  and  that,  of  course,  was  what  she  always 
wanted.  That  night  she  was  the  perfect  nurse. 
Lakeby  obeyed  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  probationer. 
I  often  wonder  I  am  not  more  grateful  to  Benham, 
failed  to  become  quickly  attached  to  her.  I  don't 
think  perhaps  that  mine  is  a  grateful  nature,  but  I 
surely  recognised  already  to-night,  in  this  bad  hour, 
her  complete  and  wonderful  competence.  I  was  in 
high  fever,  very  agitated,  yet  striving  to  keep  com- 
mand of  my  nerves. 

"  It  looks  bad,  you  know,  but  it  is  not  really 
serious,  it  is  only  a  symptom,  not  a  disease.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  to  keep  very  quiet.  The  doctor  will 
soon  be  here." 

"  I'm  not  frightened." 

"  Hush !    I'm  sure  you  are  not." 

A  hot  bottle  to  my  feet,  little  lumps  of  ice  to 
suck;  loose  warm  covering  adjusted  round  me 
quickly,  the  blinds  pulled  up,  and  the  window 
opened,  there  was  nothing  of  which  she  did  not 
think.  And  the  little  she  said  was  all  in  the  right  key, 
not  making  light  of  my  trouble,  but  explaining, 
minimizing  it,  helping  me  to  calm  my  disordered 
nerves. 

"  I  would  give  you  a  morphia  injection  only  that 
Dr.  Kennedy  will  be  here  any  moment  now." 


52  TWILIGHT 

I  don't  think  it  could  have  been  long  after  that 
before  he  was  in  the  room.  In  the  meantime  I  was 
hating  the  sight  of  my  own  blood  and  kept  begging 
the  nurses  or  signing  to  them  to  remove  basins  and 
stained  clothes. 

Nurse  Benham  told  him  very  quietly  what  had 
happened.  He  was  looking  at  me  and  said  encour- 
agingly : 

"  You  will  soon  be  all  right." 

I  was  still  coughing  up  blood  and  did  not  feel 
reassured.  I  heard  him  ask  for  hot  water.  Nurse 
and  he  were  at  the  chest  of  drawers,  whispering 
over  something  that  might  be  cooking  operations. 
Then  nurse  came  back  to  the  bed. 

"  Dr.  Kennedy  is  going  to  give  you  a  morphia 
injection  that  will  stop  the  haemorrhage  at  once." 

She  rolled  up  the  sleeve  of  my  nightgown,  and 
I  saw  he  was  beside  her. 

"How  much?"  I  got  out. 

"  A  quarter  of  a  grain,"  he  answered  quietly. 
"  You'll  find  it  will  be  quite  enough.  If  not,  you 
can  have  another." 

I  resented  the  prick  of  the  needle,  and  that  having 
hurt  me  he  should  rub  the  place  with  his  finger, 
making  it  worse,  I  thought.  I  got  reconciled  to 
it  however,  and  his  presence  there,  very  soon.  He 
was  still  in  tweeds  and  they  smelt  of  gorse  or  peat, 
of  something  pleasant. 

"Getting  better?" 


TWILIGHT  53 

There  was  no  doubt  the  haemorrhage  was  coming 
to  an  end,  and  I  was  no  longer  shivering  and  appre- 
hensive. He  felt  my  pulse  and  said  it  was  "  very 
good." 

"  The  usual  cackle !  "    I  was  able  to  smile. 

"  I  shouldn't  talk  if  I  were  you."  He  smiled  too. 
"  You  will  be  quite  comfortable  in  half  an  hour." 

"  I  am  not  uncomfortable  now."  He  laughed,  a 
low  and  pleasant  laugh. 

"  She  is  wonderful,  isn't  she  ? "  he  said  to 
Benham.  Benham  was  clearing  away  every  evidence 
of  what  had  occurred,  and  I  felt  how  competent 
they  both  were,  and  again  that  I  was  in  good  hands. 
I  was  glad  Ella  was  asleep  and  knew  nothing  of 
what  was  happening. 

Dr.  Kennedy  was  over  at  the  chest  of  drawers 
again. 

"  I'll  leave  you  another  dose,"  he  said,  and  they 
talked  together.  Then  he  came  to  say  "  good-bye  " 
to  me. 

"Can't  I  sleep  by  myself?  I  hate  any  one  in 
the  room  with  me."  I  wanted  to  add,  "  it  spoils  my 
dreams,"  but  am  not  sure  if  I  actually  said  the 
words. 

'  You'll  find  you  will  be  all  right,  as  right  as  rain. 
Nurse  will  fix  you  up.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  go 
to  sleep.  If  not  she  will  give  you  another  dose.  I've 
left  it  measured  out.  You  are  not  afraid,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No." 


54  TWILIGHT 

"  The  good  dreams  will  come.  I  am  willing  them 
to  you."  I  found  it  difficult  to  concentrate. 

"  What  did  you  promise  me  before?  " 

"  Nothing  I  shan't  perform.    Good-night  ..." 

He  went  away  quickly. 

I  was  wider  awake  than  I  wished  to  be,  and  soon 
a  desire  for  action  was  racing  in  my  disordered 
mind.  I  thought  the  haemorrhage  meant  death,  and 
I  had  left  so  many  things  undone.  I  could  not  recol- 
lect the  provisions  of  my  will,  and  felt  sure  it  was 
unjust.  I  could  have  been  kinder  to  so  many  people, 
the  dead  as  well  as  the  living.  It  is  so  easy  to  say 
sharp,  clever  things;  so  difficult  to  unsay  them.  I 
remembered  one  particular  act  of  unkindness  .  .  . 
even  now  I  cannot  bear  to  recall  it.  Alas !  it  was  to 
one  now  dead.  And  Ella,  Ella  did  not  know  I 
returned  her  love,  full  measure,  pressed  down, 
brimming  over.  Once,  very  many  years  ago,  when 
she  was  in  need  and  I  supposed  to  be  rich,  she  asked 
me  to  lend  her  five  hundred  pounds.  Because  I 
hadn't  it,  and  was  too  proud  to  say  so,  I  was  ruder 
to  her  than  seems  possible  now,  asking  why  I  should 
work  to  supply  her  extravagances.  But  she  was 
never  extravagant,  except  in  giving.  Oh,  God! 
That  five  hundred  pounds!  How  many  times  I 
have  thought  of  it.  What  would  I  not  give  not  to 
have  said  no,  to  have  humbled  my  pride,  admitted  I 
could  not  put  my  hands  on  so  large  a  sum?  Now 
she  lavishes  her  all  on  me.  And  if  it  were  true 


TWILIGHT  55 

that  I  was  dying,  already  I  was  not  sure,  she  would 
be  lonely  in  her  world.  Without  each  other  we  were 
always  lonely.  Love  of  sisters  is  unlike  all  other 
love.  We  had  slept  in  each  other's  bed  from  baby- 
hood onward,  told  each  other  all  our  little  secrets, 
been  banded  together  against  nurses  and  govern- 
esses, maintained  our  intimacy  in  changed  and 
changing  circumstances,  through  long  and  varied 
years.  Ella  would  be  lonely  when  I  was  dead.  A 
hot  tear  or  two  oozed  through  my  closed  lids  when 
I  thought  of  Ella's  loneliness  without  me.  I  wiped 
those  tears  away  feebly  with  the  sheet.  The  room 
was  very  strange  and  quiet,  not  quite  steady  when 
I  opened  my  eyes.  So  I  shut  them.  The  morphia 
was  beginning  to  act. 

"Why  are  you  crying?" 

"  How  could  you  see  me  over  there  ?  "  But  I  no 
longer  wanted  to  cry  and  I  had  forgotten  Ella.  I 
opened  my  eyes  when  she  spoke.  The  fire  was  low 
and  the  room  dark,  quite  steady  and  ordinary. 
Margaret  was  sitting  by  the  fireside,  and  I  saw  her 
more  clearly  than  I  had  ever  seen  her  before,  a 
pale,  clever,  whimsical  face,  thin-featured  and  mo- 
bile, with  grey  eyes. 

"It  is  absurd  to  cry,"  she  said.  "When  I 
finished  crying  there  were  no  tears  in  the  world  to 
shed.  All  the  grief,  all  the  unhappiness  died  with 
me." 

"  Why  were  you  so  unhappy?  "  I  asked. 


56  TWILIGHT 

"  Because  I  was  a  fool,"  she  answered.  "  When 
you  tell  my  story  you  must  do  it  as  sympathetically 
as  possible,  make  people  sorry  for  me.  But  that 
is  the  truth.  I  was  unhappy  because  I  was  a 
fool." 

"  You  still  think  I  shall  write  your  story.  The 
critics  will  be  pleased  ..."  I  began  to  remember 
all  they  would  say,  the  flattering  notices. 

"  Why  were  you  crying?  "  she  persisted.  "  Are 
you  a  fool  too?  " 

"  No.  Only  on  Ella's  account  I  don't  want  to 
die." 

"  You  need  not  fear.  Is  Ella  some  one  who  loves 
you?  If  so  she  will  keep  you  here.  Gabriel  did 
not  love  me  enough.  If  some  one  needs  us  desper- 
ately and  loves  us  completely,  we  don't  die." 

"  Did  no  one  love  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  died,"  she  answered  concisely,  and  then  gazed 
into  the  fire. 

My  limbs  relaxed,  I  felt  drowsy  and  convinced  of 
great  talent.  I  had  never  done  myself  justice,  but 
with  this  story  of  Margaret  Capel's  I  should  come 
into  my  own.  I  wrote  the  opening  sentence,  a 
splendid  sentence,  arresting.  And  then  I  went  on 
easily.  I,  who  always  wrote  with  infinite  difficulty, 
slowly,  and  trying  each  phrase  over  again,  weighing 
and  appraising  it,  now  found  an  amazing  fluency 
come  to  me.  I  wrote  and  wrote. 

De  Quincey  has  not  spoken  the  last  word  on 


TWILIGHT  57 

morphia  dreams.  It  is  only  a  pity  he  spoke  so 
well  that  lesser  writers  are  chary  of  giving  their 
experiences.  The  next  few  days,  as  I  heard  after- 
wards, I  lay  between  life  and  death,  the  temperature 
never  below  102  and  the  haemorrhage  recurring.  I 
only  know  that  they  were  calm  and  happy  days. 
Ella  was  there  and  we  understood  each  other  per- 
fectly, without  words.  The  nurses  came  and  went, 
and  when  it  was  Benham  I  was  glad  and  she  knew 
my  needs,  when  I  was  thirsty,  or  wanted  this  or 
that.  But  when  Lakeby  replaced  her  she  would 
talk  and  say  silly  soothing  things,  shake  up  my 
pillows  when  I  wanted  to  be  left  alone,  touch  the 
bed  when  she  passed  it,  coax  me  to  what  I  would 
do  willingly,  intrude  on  my  comfortable  time.  I 
liked  best  to  be  alone,  for  then  I  saw  Margaret.  She 
never  spoke  of  anything  but  herself  and  the  letters 
and  diary  she  had  left  me,  the  rough  notes.  We 
had  strange  little  absurd  arguments.  I  told  her  not 
to  doubt  that  I  would  write  her  story,  because  I  loved 
writing,  I  lived  to  write,  every  day  was  empty  that 
held  no  written  word,  that  I  only  lived  my  fullest, 
my  completest  when  I  was  at  my  desk,  when  there 
was  wide  horizon  for  my  eyes  and  I  saw  the  real 
true  imagined  people  with  whom  I  was  more 
intimate  than  with  any  I  met  at  receptions  and 
crowded  dinner-parties. 

"  The  absurdity  is  that  any  one  who  feels  what 
you  describe  should  write  so  badly.    It  is  incredible 


58  TWILIGHT 

that  you  should  have  the  temperament  of  the  writer 
without  the  talent,"  she  said  to  me  once. 

"  What  makes  you  say  I  write  badly  ?  I  sell 
well ! "  I  told  her  what  I  got  for  my  books,  and 
about  my  dear  American  public. 

"  Sell !  sell !  "  She  was  quite  contemptuous. 
"  Hall  Caine  sells  better  than  you  do,  and  Marie 
Corelli,  and  Mrs.  Barclay." 

"  Would  you  rather  I  gave  one  of  them  your 
MS.  ?  "  I  asked  pettishly.  I  was  vexed  with  her 
now,  but  I  did  not  want  her  to  go.  She  used  to 
vanish  suddenly  like  a  light  blown  out.  I  think 
that  was  when  I  fell  asleep,  but  I  did  not  want  to 
keep  awake  always,  or  hear  her  talking.  She  was 
inclined  to  be  melancholy,  or  cynical,  and  so  jarred 
my  mood,  my  sense  of  well-being. 

Night  and  morning  they  gave  me  my  injections 
of  morphia,  until  the  morning  when  I  refused  it,  to 
Dr.  Kennedy's  surprise  and  against  Benham's 
remonstrance. 

"  It  is  good  for  you,  you  are  not  going  to  set 
yourself  against  it?" 

"  I  can  have  it  again  tonight.  I  don't  need  it 
in  the  daytime.  The  haemorrhage  has  left  off." 
Dr.  Kennedy  supported  me  in  my  refusal.  I  will 
admit  the  next  few  days  were  dreadful.  I  found 
myself  utterly  ill  and  helpless,  and  horribly  conscious 
of  all  that  was  going  on.  The  detail  of  desperate 


TWILIGHT  59 

illness  is  almost  unbearable  to  a  thinking  person  of 
decent  and  reticent  physical  habits.  The  feeding 
cup  and  gurgling  water  bed,  the  lack  of  privacy,  are 
hourly  humiliations.  All  one's  modesties  are  out- 
raged. I  improved,  although  as  I  heard  afterwards 
it  had  not  been  expected  that  I  would  live.  The 
consultants  gave  me  up,  and  the  nurses.  Only  Dr. 
Kennedy  and  Ella  refused  to  admit  the  condition 
hopeless.  When  I  continued  to  improve  Ella  was 
boastful  and  Benham  contradictory.  The  one 
dressed  me  up,  making  pretty  lace  and  ribbon  caps, 
sending  to  London  for  wonderful  dressing- jackets 
and  nightgowns,  pretending  I  was  out  of  danger 
and  on  the  road  to  convalescence,  long  before  I 
even  had  a  normal  temperature.  Benham  fought 
against  all  the  indulgences  that  Ella  and  I  ordered 
and  Dr.  Kennedy  never  opposed.  Seeing  visitors, 
sitting  up  in  bed,  reading  the  newspapers,  abandon- 
ing invalid  diet  in  favour  of  caviare  and  foie  gras, 
strange  rich  dishes.  Benham  despised  Dr.  Kennedy 
and  said  we  could  always  get  round  him,  make  him 
say  whatever  we  wished.  More  than  once  she 
threatened  to  throw  up  the  case.  I  did  not  want 
her  to  go.  I  knew,  if  I  did  not  admit  it,  that  my 
convalescence  was  not  established.  I  had  no  real 
confidence  in  myself,  was  much  weaker  than  any- 
body but  myself  knew,  with  disquieting  symptoms. 
It  exhausted  me  to  fight  with  her  continually,  one 
day  I  told  her  so,  and  that  she  was  retarding  my 


60  TWILIGHT 

recovery.  "  I  am  older  than  you,  and  I  hate  to  be 
ordered  about  or  contradicted." 

"  But  I  am  so  much  more  experienced  in  illness. 
You  know  I  only  want  to  do  what  is  best  for  you. 
You  are  not  strong  enough  to  do  half  the  things  you 
are  doing.  You  turn  Dr.  Kennedy  round  your 
little  finger,  you  and  Mrs.  Lovegrove.  He  knows 
well  enough  you  ought  not  to  be  getting  up  and 
seeing  people.  You  will  want  to  go  down  next. 
And  as  for  the  things  you  eat ! " 

"  I  shall  go  down  next  week.  I  suppose  I  shall 
be  exhausted  before  I  get  there,  arguing  with  you 
whether  I  ought  or  ought  not  to  go." 

By  this  time  I  had  got  rid  of  the  night  nurse, 
Benham  looked  after  me  night  and  day  devotedly. 
I  was  no  longer  indifferent  to  her.  She  angered  me 
nevertheless,  and  we  quarrelled  bitterly.  The  least 
drawback,  however,  and  I  could  not  bear  her  out 
of  the  room.  She  did  not  reproach  me,  I  must  say 
that  for  her.  When  a  horrible  bilious  attack 
followed  an  invalid  dinner  of  melon  and  homard  a 
I'americaine  she  stood  by  my  side  for  hours  trying 
every  conceivable  remedy.  And  without  a  word  of 
reproach. 

After  my  haemorrhage  I  had  a  few  weeks'  rest 
from  the  neuritis  and  then  it  started  again.  I  cried 
out  for  my  forsaken  nepenthe,  but  Peter  Kennedy 
and  Nurse  Benham  for  once  agreed,  persuaded  or 
forced  me  to  codein.  Dear  half-sister  to  my  beloved 


TWILIGHT  61 

morphia,  we  became  friends  at  once.  Three  or  four 
days  later  the  neuritis  went  suddenly,  and  has  never 
returned.  One  night  I  took  the  nepenthe  as  well, 
and  that  night  I  saw  Margaret  Capel  again. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  begin  ?  "  she  asked  me 
at  once. 

"  The  very  moment  I  can  hold  a  pen.  Now  my 
hand  shakes.  And  Ella  or  nurse  is  always  here — 
I  am  never  alone." 

"  You've  forgotten  all  about  me,"  she  said  with 
indescribable  sadness.  "  You  won't  write  it  at 
all." 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I  shall.  But  when  one  has  been 
so  ill  .  .  . "  I  pleaded. 

"  Other  people  write  when  they  are  ill.  You 
remember  Green,  and  Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  As 
for  me,  I  never  felt  well." 

The  next  day,  before  Dr.  Kennedy  came,  I  asked 
Benham  to  leave  us  alone  together.  He  still  came 
daily,  but  she  disapproved  of  his  methods  and  told 
me  that  she  only  stayed  in  the  room  and  gave  him 
her  report  because  she  thought  it  her  duty.  They 
were  temperamentally  opposed.  She  had  the 
scientific  mind  and  believed  in  authority.  His  was 
imaginative,  desultory,  doubtful,  but  wide  and 
enquiring.  Both  of  them  were  interested  in  me,  so 
at  least  Ella  told  me.  She  was  satisfied  now  with  my 
doctoring  and  nursing.  At  least  a  week  had  passed 
since  she  suggested  a  substitute  for  either, 


62  TWILIGHT 

Dr.  Kennedy,  when  we  were  alone,  said,  as  he  did 
when  nurse  was  standing  there : 

"  Well!  how  are  you  getting  on?" 

"  Splendidly."  And  then,  without  any  circumlo- 
cution, although  we  had  not  spoken  of  the  matter 
for  weeks,  and  so  much  had  occurred  in  the  mean- 
time, I  asked  him.:  "  What  did  you  do  about  that 
packet?  I  want  it  now.  I  am  quite  well  enough." 

"  You  have  not  seen  her  since?  " 

"  Over  and  over  again.  She  thinks  I  am  shirking 
my  responsibilities." 

"  Are  you  well  enough  to  write  ?  " 

"  I  am  well  enough  to  read.  When  will  you  bring 
me  the  letters?" 

"  I  brought  them  when  I  said  I  would,  the  day 
you  were  taken  ill." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"  In  the  first  drawer,  the  right-hand  drawer  of  the 
chest  of  drawers."  He  turned  round  to  it.  "  That 
is,  if  they  have  not  been  moved.  I  put  the  packet 
there  myself,  told  nurse  it  was  something  that  was 
not  to  be  touched.  The  morphia  things  are  in  the 
same  place.  I  don't  know  what  she  thinks  it  is,  some 
new  and  useless  drug  or  apparatus;  she  has  no 
opinion  of  me,  you  know.  I  used  to  see  it  night 
and  morning,  as  long  as  you  were  having  the  injec- 
tions." 

"  See  if  it  is  there  now." 

He  went  over  and  opened  the  drawer : 


TWILIGHT  63 

"  It  is  there  right  enough." 

"  Oh !  don't  be  like  nurse,"  I  said  impatiently.  "  I 
am  strong  enough  to  look  at  the  packet." 

He  gave  it  to  me,  into  my  hands,  an  ordinary 
brown  paper  parcel,  tied  with  string  and  heavily, 
awkwardly,  splotched  and  protected  with  sealing- 
wax.  I  could  have  sworn  to  his  handiwork. 

"  Why  are  you  smiling?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  at  the  neatness  of  your  parcel."  He  smiled 
too. 

"  I  tied  it  up  in  a  hurry.  I  didn't  want  to  be 
tempted  to  look  inside." 

"  So  you  make  me  guardian  and  executrix   ..." 

"  Margaret  herself  said  you  were  to  have  them," 
he  answered  seriously. 

"  She  didn't  tell  you  so.  You  have  only  my  word 
for  it,"  I  retorted. 

"  Better  evidence  than  that,  although  that  would 
have  been  enough.  How  else  did  you  know  they 
were  in  existence?  Why  were  you  looking  for 
them?" 

The  parcel  lay  on  the  quilt,  and  all  sorts  of 
difficulties  rose  in  my  mind.  I  would  not  open  it 
unless  I  was  alone,  and  I  was  never  alone ;  literally 
never  alone  unless  I  was  supposed  to  be  asleep.  And, 
thanks  to  codein,  when  I  was  supposed  to  be  asleep 
the  supposition  was  generally  correct!  Thinking 
aloud,  I  asked  Dr.  Kennedy: 

"Am  I  out  of  danger?" 


64  TWILIGHT 

He  answered  lightly  and  evasively : 

"  No  one  is  ever  really  out  of  danger.  I  take  my 
life  in  my  hands  every  time  I  go  in  my  motor." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I've  heard  about  your  driving,"  I 
answered  drily. 

He  laughed. 

"  I  am  supposed  to  be  reckless,  but  really  I  am 
only  unlucky.  With  luck  now  ..." 

"Yes,  with  luck?" 

"  You  might  go  on  for  any  time.  I  shouldn't 
worry  about  that  if  I  were  you.  You  are  getting 
better." 

"  I  am  not  worrying,  only  thinking  about  Mrs. 
Lovegrove.  She  has  two  children,  a  large  house, 
literary  and  other  engagements.  Will  you  tell  her 
I  am  well  enough  to  be  left  alone  ?  "  He  answered 
quickly  and  surprised : 

"  She  does  not  want  to  go,  she  likes  being  with 
you.  Not  that  I  wonder  at  that." 

He  was  a  strange  person.  Sometimes  I  had  an 
idea  he  was  not  "  all  there."  He  said  whatever 
came  into  his  mind,  and  had  other  divergencies  from 
the  ordinary  type.  I  had  to  explain  to  him  my 
need  of  solitude.  If  Ella  went  back  to  town, 
Benham  would  soon,  I  hoped,  with  a  little  encourage- 
ment, fall  into  the  way  of  ordinary  nurses.  I  had 
had  them  in  London  and  knew  their  habits.  Two 
or  three  hours  in  the  morning  for  their  so-called 
"  constitutionals,"  two  or  three  hours  in  the  after- 


TWILIGHT  65 

noon  for  sleep,  whether  they  had  been  disturbed  in 
the  night  or  not;  in  the  intervals  there  were  the 
meals  over  which  they  lingered.  Solitude  would 
be  easily  secured  if  Ella  went  away  and  there  was 
no  one  to  watch  or  comment  on  the  amount  of  atten- 
tion purchased  or  purchasable  for  two  guineas  a 
week.  I  misread  Benham,  by  the  way,  but  that  is 
a  detail.  She  was  not  like  the  average  nurse,  and 
never  behaved  in  the  same  way. 

My  first  objective,  once  that  brown  paper  parcel 
lay  on  the  bed,  was  to  persuade  Ella  to  go  back  to 
home  and  children.  Without  hurting  her  feelings. 
She  would  not  have  left  the  house  for  five  minutes 
before  I  should  be  longing  for  her  back  again.  I 
knew  that,  but  one  cannot  work  and  play.  I  have 
never  had  any  other  companion  but  Ella.  Still  .  .  . 
Work  whilst  ye  have  the  light.  One  more  book  I 
must  do,  and  here  was  one  to  my  hand. 

I  made  Dr.  Kennedy  put  the  parcel  back  in  the 
drawer.  Then  I  lay  and  made  plans.  I  must  talk 
to  Ella  of  Violet  and  Tommy,  make  her  homesick 
for  them.  Unfortunately  Ella  knew  me  so  well.  I 
started  that  very  afternoon. 

"  How  does  Violet  get  on  without  you  ?  " 

"  She  is  all  right." 

But  soon  afterwards  Ella  asked  me  quietly 
whether  there  was  any  one  else  I  would  like  down. 

"  God  forbid !  "  I  answered  in  alarm,  and  she 
understood,  understood  without  showing  pang  or 


66  TWILIGHT 

offence,  that  I  wanted  to  be  alone.  One  thing  Ella 
never  quite  realised,  my  wretched  inability  to  live  in 
two  worlds  at  once,  the  real  and  the  unreal.  When 
I  want  to  write  there  is  no  use  giving  me  certain 
hours  or  times  to  myself.  I  want  all  the  days  and 
all  the  nights.  I  don't  wish  to  be  spoken  to,  nor 
torn  away  from  my  story  and  new  friends.  For  this 
reason  I  have  always  had  to  leave  London  many 
months  in  the  year,  for  the  seaside  or  abroad. 
London  meant  Ella,  almost  daily,  at  the  telephone  if 
not  personally. 

"You  don't  write  all  day,  do  you?  What  are 
you  pretending?  Don't  be  so  absurd,  you  must  go 
out  sometimes.  I  am  fetching  you  in  the  car 
at  .  .  ." 

And  then  I  was  lured  by  her  to  theatres,  dinners, 
lunches.  She  thought  people  liked  to  meet  me,  but 
I  have  rarely  noticed  any  interest  taken  in  a  female 
novelist,  however  many  editions  she  may  run 
through.  My  strength  was  returning,  if  slowly. 
Ella  of  course  had  duties  to  those  children  of  hers 
that  sometimes  I  resented  so  unreasonably.  I 
always  wished  her  early  widowhood  had  left  her 
without  ties.  However,  the  call  of  them  came  in 
usefully  now ;  it  was  not  necessary  for  me  to  press 
it.  I  came  first  with  her,  I  exulted  in  it.  But  since 
I  was  getting  better  .  .  . 

I  wished  to  be  alone  with  that  parcel.  I  did 
make  a  tentative  effort  before  Ella  left. 


TWILIGHT  67 

"  I  don't  want  to  settle  off  to  sleep  just  yet,  nurse, 
I  should  like  to  read  a  little.  There  is  a  packet  of 
letters  .  .  ." 

"  No !  No !  I  wouldn't  hear  of  such  a  thing. 
Starting  reading  at  ten  o'clock.  What  will  you  be 
wanting  to  do  next  ?  " 

"  It  would  not  do  me  any  harm,"  I  answered 
irritably.  "  I've  told  you  before  it  does  me  more 
harm  to  be  contradicted  every  time  I  make  a  sugges- 
tion." 

"  Well,  you  won't  get  me  to  help  you  to  commit 
suicide.  Night  is  the  time  for  sleep,  and  you've  had 
your  codein." 

"  The  codein  does  not  send  me  to  sleep,  it  only 
soothes  and  quiets  me." 

"  All  the  more  reason  you  should  not  wake  your- 
self up  by  any  old  letters."  She  argued,  and  I  ... 
At  the  end  I  was  too  tired  and  out  of  humour  to 
insist.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  do  without  a  nurse 
as  soon  as  possible,  and  in  the  meantime  not  to 
argue  but  to  circumvent  her.  At  this  time,  before 
Ella  went,  I  was  getting  up  every  day  for  a  few 
hours,  lying  on  the  couch  by  the  window.  I  tested 
my  strength  and  found  I  could  walk  from  bed  to 
sofa,  from  sofa  to  easy-chair  without  nurse's  arm, 
if  I  made  the  effort. 

"You  will  take  care  of  yourself?"  were  Ella's 
last  words,  and  I  promised  impatiently. 

"  I  don't  so  much  mind  leaving  you  alone  now, 


68  TWILIGHT 

you  have  your  Peter,  and  nurse  won't  let  you  overdo 
things." 

"  You  have  your  Peter."  Can  one  imagine  any- 
thing more  ridiculous!  My  incurably  frivolous 
sister  imagined  I  had  fallen  in  love,  with  that  lout ! 
I  was  unable  to  persuade  her  to  the  contrary.  She 
argued,  that  at  my  worst  and  before,  I  would  have 
no  other  attendant.  And  she  pointed  out  that  it 
could  not  possibly  be  Peter  Kennedy's  skill  that 
attracted  me.  I  defended  him,  feebly  perhaps,  for 
it  was  true  that  he  had  not  shown  any  special  apti- 
tude or  ability.  I  said  he  was  quite  as  good  as  any  of 
the  others,  and  certainly  less  depressing. 

"There  is  no  good  humbugging  me,  or  trying 
to.  You  are  in  love  with  the  man.  Don't  trouble 
to  contradict  it.  And  I  am  not  a  bit  jealous.  I 
only  hope  he  will  make  you  happy.  Nurse  told  me 
you  do  not  even  like  her  to  come  into  the  room 
when  he  is  here." 

"  Don't  you  know  how  old  I  am  ?  It  is  really 
undignified,  humiliating,  to  be  talked  to  or  of  in 
that  way  ..." 

"  Age  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  A  woman  is 
never  too  old  to  fall  in  love.  And  besides,  what  is 
thirty-nine  ?  " 

"  In  this  case  it  is  forty-two,"  I  put  in  drily, 
my  sense  of  humour  not  being  entirely  in  abeyance. 

"  Well !  or  forty-two.     Anyway  you  will  admit 


TWILIGHT  69 

I  took  a  hint  very  quickly.  I  am  going  to  leave  you 
alone  with  your  Corydon." 

"Caliban!" 

"  He  is  not  bad-looking  really,  it  is  only  his 
clothes.  And  if  anything  comes  of  it  you  will  send 
him  to  Poole's.  Anyway  his  feet  and  hands  are 
all  right,  and  there  is  a  certain  grace  about  his 
ungainliness." 

"  Really,  Ella,  I  can't  bear  any  more.  Love  runs 
in  your  head ;  feeds  your  activities,  agrees  with  you. 
But  as  for  me,  I've  long  outgrown  it.  I  am  tired, 
old,  ill.  Peter  Kennedy  is  just  not  objectionable. 
Other  doctors  are.  He  is  honest,  simple  .  .  ." 

"  I  will  hear  all  about  his  qualities  next  time  I 
come.  Only  don't  think  you  are  deceiving  me.  God 
bless  you,  dear."  She  turned  suddenly  serious. 
'  You  know  I  would  not  go  if  you  wanted  me  to 
stop  or  if  I  were  uneasy  about  you  any  more.  You 
know  I  will  come  down  again  at  any  moment  you 
want  me.  I  shall  miss  my  train  if  I  don't  rush. 
Can  I  send  you  anything?  I  won't  forget  the  sofa 
rug,  and  if  you  think  of  anything  else  .  .  ." 
Her  maid  knocked  at  the  door  and  said  the  flyman 
had  called  up  to  say  she  must  come  at  once.  Her 
last  words  were :  "  Well,  good-bye  again,  and  tell 
him  I  give  my  consent.  Tell  him  he  gave  the  show 
away  himself.  I  have  known  about  it  ever  since 
the  first  night  I  was  here  when  he  told  me  what  an 
interesting  woman  you  were  ..." 


70  TWILIGHT 

"  Good-bye  .  .  thanks  for  everything.  I'm 
sorry  you've  got  that  mad  idea  in  your  silly 
head.  .  ."  She  was  gone.  I  heard  her  voice  outside 
the  window  giving  directions  to  the  man  and  then 
the  crunch  of  the  fly  wheels  on  the  gravel  as  she  was 
driven  away. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THAT  night,  the  very  night  after  Ella  had  gone,  I 
tested  my  slowly  returning  strength.  Benham  gave 
me  my  codein,  and  saw  that  I  was  well  provided 
with  all  I  might  need  for  the  night;  the  lemonade 
and  glycerine  lozenges,  a  second  codein  on  the  table 
by  my  side,  the  electric  bell  to  my  hand.  This  bell 
had  been  put  up  since  the  night  nurse  left;  it  rang 
into  Benham's  bedroom.  I  waited  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  after  she  had  gone,  she  had  a  habit  of 
coming  back  to  see  if  I  had  forgotten  anything, 
or  to  show  me  how  thick  and  abundant  her  hair  was 
without  the  uniform  cap.  I  should  have  felt  like  a 
criminal  when  I  stole  out  of  bed.  But  I  did  not, 
I  felt  like  an  invalid,  and  a  feeble  one  at  that.  It 
was  only  a  couple  of  steps  from  the  bed  to  the  chest 
of  drawers  and  I  accomplished  it  without  mishap, 
then  was  back  again  in  bed,  only  to  remember  the 
seals  were  still  unbroken  and  the  string  firm.  A 
pair  of  nail  scissors  were  on  the  dressing-table.  I 
was  disinclined  for  the  journey,  but  managed  it 
all  the  same.  I  was  then  so  exhausted  I  had  to 
wait  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  I  was  able  to 
use  them.  Only  then  was  my  curiosity  rewarded. 

71 


72  TWILIGHT 

A  small  number  of  letters,  not  more  than  fifteen 
or  sixteen  in  all,  a  bound  diary,  a  very  cursory 
glance  at  which  showed  me  the  disingenuousness, 
and  half  a  dozen  pages  of  MS.  notes  or  chapter 
headings  with  several  trial  titles,  "  Between  the 
Nisi  and  the  Absolute,"  "  Publisher  and  Sinner," 
headed  two  separate  pages.  "  The  Story  of  an 
Unhappy  Woman  "  the  third.  The  notes  were  all 
in  the  first  person,  and  I  should  have  known  them 
anywhere  for  Margaret  Capel's. 

Small  as  the  whole  cache  was,  I  did  not  think  it 
possible  I  could  get  through  it  all  that  night. 
Neither  did  it  seem  possible  to  get  out  of  bed  again. 
The  papers  must  remain  where  they  were,  or  under- 
neath my  pillow.  I  should  be  strong  enough,  I 
hoped,  by  the  morning  to  put  up  with  or  con- 
front any  wrath  or  argument  Benham  would 
advance. 

I  had  got  up  because  I  chose.  That  was  the 
beginning  and  end  of  it.  She  must  learn  to  put  up 
with  my  ways,  or  I  with  a  change  of  nurse. 

The  letters  were  in  an  elastic  band,  without 
envelopes,  labelled  and  numbered.  Margaret's  were 
on  paper  of  a  light  mauve,  with  lines,  like  foreign 
paper.  Her  handwriting,  masculine  and  square, 
was  not  very  readable.  She  rarely  dotted  an  i  or 
crossed  a  t,  used  the  Greek  e  and  many  ellipses. 
Gabriel's  letters  were  as  easy  to  read  as  print.  It 
was  a  pity  therefore  that  hers  were  so  much  longer 


TWILIGHT  73 

than  his.  Still,  once  I  began  I  was  sorry  to  leave 
off,  and  should  not  have  done  so  if  I  could  have 
kept  my  eyes  open  or  my  attention  from  wandering. 
I  am  printing  them  just  as  they  stand,  those  that  I 
read  that  night,  at  least.  Here  they  are: — 

No.  i.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  S.W., 

January  29th,  1902. 
Dear  Sirs: — 

Would  you  care  to  publish  a  book  by  me  on 
Staffordshire  Pottery?  What  I  have  in  my  mind 
is  a  limited  edition  de  luxe,  illustrated  in  colours, 
highly  priced.  I  may  say  I  have  a  collection  which 
I  believe  to  be  unique,  if  not  complete,  upon  which 
I  propose  to  draw  largely.  Of  course  the  matter 
would  have  to  be  discussed  both  from  your  point 
of  view  and,  mine.  This  is  merely  to  ask  if  you 
are  open. 

My  name  is  probably  not  unknown  to  you,  or 
rather  my  pseudonym. 

The  critics  have  been  kind  to  my  novels,  and  I  see 
no  reason  why  they  should  be  less  so  to  a 
monograph  on  a  subject  I  thoroughly  understand. 
Although  perhaps  that  will  be  hard  for  them  to 
forgive.  For  it  will  be  reviewed,  if  at  all,  by  critics 
less  well  informed. 

Yours  sincerely, 

MARGARET  CAPEL  ("Simon  Dare"}. 
Author  of  "  The  Immoralists," 

"  Love  and  the  Lutist,"  etc. 
Messrs.  Stanton  &  Co. 


74  TWILIGHT 

No.  2.         117-118  Greyfriars'  Square,  E.G., 

January  3Oth,  1902. 

Dear  Madam: — 

I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  letter  of  yesterday 
with  its  suggestion  for  a  book  on  Staffordshire 
Pottery. 

The  subject  is  outside  my  own  knowledge,  but 
I  find  there  is  no  comprehensive  work  dealing  with 
it,  a  small  elementary  booklet  published  in  the  Mid- 
lands some  three  years  ago  being  the  only  volume 
catalogued. 

In  any  case  there  can  hardly  be  a  large  public  for 
so  special  an  interest,  and  it  will  probably  be  best, 
as  you  indicate,  to  issue  a  limited  edition  at  a  high 
price  and  appeal  direct  by  prospectus  to  collectors. 
The  success  of  the  publication  would  be  then  largely 
dependent  on  the  beauty  of  the  illustrations  and 
the  general  "  get  up  "  of  the  volume,  for  although  I 
have  no  doubt  your  text  will  be  excellent  and 
accurate — it  must  be  properly  "  dressed  "  to  secure 
attention. 

Indeed  I  have  the  privilege  of  knowing  your 
novels  well.  They  have  always  appealed  to  me  as 
having  the  cardinal  qualities  of  courage  and  actual- 
ity. Complete  frankness  combined  with  delicacy 
and  literary  skill  is  so  rare  with  modern-day  writers 
that  your  work  stands  out. 

Could  you  very  kindly  make  it  convenient  to  call 
here  so  that  we  may  discuss  the  details  and  plan 
for  the  Staffordshire  book?  This  would  save  a 
good  deal  of  correspondence. 

I  will  gladly  keep  any  appointment  you  make — 
please  avoid  Saturday,  as  I  try  to  take  that  day 


TWILIGHT  75 

off  at  this  time  of  year  to  go  to  a  little  fishing  I 
have  in  Hampshire. 

Your  faithfully, 

,,       „      .  GABRIEL  STANTON. 

Mrs.  Capel. 

No.  3.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  S.W., 

February  ist,  1902. 
Dear  Sir: — 

I  am  obliged  by  your  courteous  letter,  and  will 
be  with  you  at  four  o'clock  whichever  day  suits  you. 
I  propose  to  bring  with  me  a  short  synopsis  of  "  The 
Staffordshire  Potters,  Their  Inspiration  and 
Results,"  and  also  a  couple  of  specimens  from  which 
you  might  make  experiments  for  illustrations.  I 
want  to  place  the  book  definitely  before  writing  it. 

Domestic  circumstances  with  which  I  need  not 
trouble  you,  they  are  I  fear  already  public 
property,  make  it  advisable  I  should  remain,  if  not 
sequestered,  at  least  practically  in  retreat  for  the 
next  few  months.  I  find  I  cannot  concentrate  my 
mind  on  a  novel  at  this  juncture.  But  my  cottages 
and  quaint  figures,  groups  and  animals,  jugs  and 
plates,  retain  their  attraction,  and  I  shall  do  a  better 
book  about  them  now,  when  I  am  dependent  on 
things  and  isolated  from  people,  than  I  should  at 
any  other  time. 

It  is  good  of  you  to  say  what  you  do  about  my 
novels,  but  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  write  another. 
My  courage  has  turned  to  cowardice,  and  under 
cross-examination  I  found  my  frankness  was  no 
longer  complete.  I  have  taken  a  dislike  to  humanity. 
Yours  sincerely, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 


76  TWILIGHT 

No.  4.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  S.W., 

February  6th,  1902. 
Dear  Mr,  Stanton: — 

The  agreement  promised  has  not  yet  arrived ;  nor 
your  photographer ;  but  I  have  made  a  first  selection 
for  him,  and  I  think  you  will  find  it  sufficiently 
varied  according  to  your  suggestion.  Thirty  illustra- 
tions in  colour  and  seventy  in  monochrome  will 
give  the  cream  of  my  collection,  and  be  representa- 
tive, although  of  course  not  exhaustive.  I  have 
375  specimens,  no  two  alike !  Ten  groups,  with  the 
dancing  dogs  for  the  half-title,  six  cottages,  six 
single  figures,  and  the  rest  animal  pieces  will  all 
look  well  in  the  process  you  showed  me.  I  propose 
the  large  so-called  classical  examples  in  mono- 
chrome; their  undoubted  coarseness  will  then  be 
toned  down  in  black  or  brown  and  none  of  their 
interest  destroyed.  Julia,  Lady  Tweeddale,  has  one 
piece  of  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  secure  a 
duplicate,  and  so  has  Mr.  Montague  Guest.  Do  you 
think  it  advisable  to  ask  permission  to  photograph 
these  for  inclusion,  or  would  it  be  better  to  use  only 
my  own  collection,  and  keep  to  the  personal  note 
in  the  letterpress? 

Our  brief  interview  gave  me  the  feeling  that  I 
may  ask  you  for  help  in  any  difficulty  or  perplexity 
that  occurs  in  the  preparation  of  a  work  so  new  to 
me.  You  were  very  kind  to  me.  I  daresay  I  seemed 
to  you  nervous  and  uncertain  of  how  I  meant  to 
proceed.  I  felt  like  a  trembling  amateur  in  that  big 
office  of  yours.  I  have  never  interviewed  a 
publisher  before ;  my  novels  always  went  by  post — 
and  came  back  that  way  too,  at  first !  I  had  a  false 
conception  of  publishers,  based  on — but  I  must  not 


TWILIGHT  77 

tell  you  upon  whom  it  was  based.  Although  why 
not?  Perhaps  you  will  recognise  the  portrait.  A 
little  pot-bellied  person,  Jewish  or  German,  with  a 
cough,  or  a  sniff,  or  a  sneeze,  a  suggestion  of  a 
coming  expectoration,  speaking  many  languages 
badly  and  apparently  all  at  once ;  impressed  with  his 
own  importance,  talking  Turgenieff  and  looking 
Abimelech.  Why  Abimelech  I  don't  know ;  but  that 
is  the  hero  of  whom  he  reminds  me.  I  met  him  at 
a  literary  garden  party  to  which  I  was  bidden  after 
"  The  Immoralists "  had  been  so  favourably 
reviewed.  It  was  given  by  a  lady  who  seemed  to 
know  everybody  and  like  no  one,  a  keen  two-bladed 
tongue  leapt  out  among  her  guests,  scarifying  them. 
She  told  me  Mr.  Rosenstein  was  not  only  a  publisher 
but  an  amorist.  He  looked  curiously  unlike  it;  but 
an  introduction  and  a  short  interview  turned  me 
sceptic  of  my  own  impression,  inclined  me  to  the 
belief  in  hers. 

I  have  wandered  from  my  theme — your  kindness, 
my  nervousness.  I  shall  try  to  do  credit  to  your 
penetration.  You  said  that  you  were  sure  I  should 
make  a  success  of  anything  I  undertook !  I  wonder 
if  you  were  right.  And  if  my  Staffordshire  book 
will  prove  you  so?  I  am  going  to  try  and  make  it 
interesting,  not  too  technical!  But  my  intentions 
vary  all  the  time.  A  preliminary  chapter  on  clays 
was  in  my  first  scheme,  I  now  want  instead  to  tell 
of  the  family  history  of  half  a  dozen  potters.  From 
this  I  begin  to  dream  of  stories  of  the  figures ;  the 
short- waisted  husband  and  wife  a-marketing  with 
their  basket  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  the  clergyman 
in  the  tithe  piece,  a  benignant  villain  this,  with  a 
chucking-his-parishioners-under-the-chin  expression. 


78  TWILIGHT 

Dear  Mr.  Stanton,  what  will  happen  if  it  turns  out 
that  I  cannot  write  a  monograph,  but  am  only  a 
novelist?  You  said  I  could  trust  you  to  act  as 
Editor  and  blue-pencil  my  redundancies.  But  what 
if  it  should  be  all  redundancy?  Put  something 
about  this  in  the  agreement,  will  you?  I  want  to 
make  money,  but  not  at  your  expense.  I  am 
nervous.  I  fear  that  instead  of  a  book  on  Stafford- 
shire Pottery  I  shall  give  you  an  illustrated  volume 
of  short  stories  published  at  five  guineas!!  What 
an  outcry  from  the  press!  Already  I  have  been 
called  "  precious."  Now  they  will  talk  of  "  preten- 
tiousness " ;  the  "  grand  manner  "  without  the  grand 
brain  behind  it!  Will  you  really  help  and  advise 
me?  I  have  never  felt  less  self-confident. 
Yours  sincerely, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 


No.  5.  118  Greyfriars'  Square,  E.G., 

February  6th,   1902. 
Dear  Mrs.  Cap  el: — 

As  we  arranged  at  our  interview  yesterday  I  now 
enclose  a  draft  contract  for  the  book. 

If  there  is  any  point  not  entirely  clear  to  you 
please  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
also  of  any  suggestion  or  criticism  that  may  occur 
to  you  in  regard  to  possible  alteration  of  the  various 
clauses,  and  will  do  my  best  to  meet  your  wishes. 
For  I  am  more  than  anxious  that  we  shall  begin 
what  I  hope  will  prove  a  long  and  successful 
"  partnership "  with  complete  understanding  and 
confidence. 

Further   enquiry  makes  me  sanguine  that  the 


TWILIGHT  79 

scheme  is  a  good  one,  and  we  will  do  everything  we 
can  to  produce  a  beautiful  book. 

May  I  say  that  it  was  a  great  pleasure  and 
privilege  to  me  to  meet  you  here  yesterday  ?  I  hope 
the  interest  you  will  find  in  this  present  work  will 
afford  you  some  relief  during  this  time  of  trouble 
and  anxiety  you  are  passing  through ;  and  counteract 
to  some  extent  at  least  the  pettiness  and  publicity 
of  litigation.  I  only  refer  to  this  with  the  greatest 
respect  and  sympathy. 

There  are  many  details,  not  only  of  the  contract, 
but  for  the  plan  of  the  book,  which  we  could 
certainly  best  arrange  if  we  discussed  them,  rather 
than  by  writing. 

Could  you  make  it  convenient  to  lunch  with  me 
one  day  next  week  ?  I  shall  be  in  the  West  End  on 
Wednesday,  and  suggest  the  Cafe  Royal  at  two 
o'clock. 

It  would  be  good  of  you  to  meet  me  there. 
Yours  sincerely, 

GABRIEL  STANTON. 


No.  6.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate, 

February  yth,  1902. 
Dear  Mr.  Stanton: — 

Our  letters  crossed.  Thanks  for  yours  with 
agreement.  The  greater  part  seems  to  me  to  be 
merely  technical,  and  I  have  no  observations  to 
make  about  it. 

Par.  2 :  guaranteeing  that  the  work  is  in  no  way 
"  a  violation  of  any  existing  copyright,"  etc.  I 
think  this  is  your  concern  rather  than  mine.  You 
say  there  is  a  book  existing  on  Staffordshire  Pottery, 


8o  TWILIGHT 

perhaps  you  can  get  me  a  copy,  and  then  I  can  see 
that  ours  shall  be  entirely  different. 

Par.  7 :  beginning  "  accounts  to  be  made  up 
annually,"  etc.,  seems  to  give  you  an  exceptionally 
long  time  to  pay  me  anything  that  may  be  due.  But 
perhaps  I  misunderstand  it. 

Therefore,  and  perhaps  for  other  reasons,  I  very 
gladly  accept  your  kind  invitation  to  lunch  with  you 
on  Wednesday  at  the  Cafe  Royal,  and  will  be  there 
at  two,  bringing  the  agreement  with  me. 

With  kind  regards, 

Yours  very  truly, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 


No.  7.  118  Greyfriars'  Square,  E.G., 

February  i3th,  1902. 
Dear  Mrs.  Cap  el: — 

I  am  breaking  into  the  commonplace  routine  of  a 
particularly  tiresome  business  day,  to  give  myself 
the  pleasure  of  writing  to  you,  and  you  will  forgive 
me  if  I  purposely  avoid  business — for  indeed  it 
seems  to  me  today  that  life  might  be  so  pleasant 
without  work.  That  little  grumble  has  done  me 
good.  I  want  to  say  what  I  fear  I  did  not  express 
to  you  yesterday — how  greatly  I  enjoyed  our  talk. 
It  was  good  of  you  to  come  and  more  good  of  you 
to  tell  me  something  of  your  present  difficulties.  I 
wish  I  could  have  been  more  helpful — but  please 
believe  I  am  more  sympathetic  than  I  was  able  to 
let  you  know,  and  I  do  understand  much  of  what 
must  be  trying  and  unhappy  for  you  during  these 
weeks.  Counsels  of  perfection  are  poor  comfort, 
but  perhaps  that  some  one  is  most  genuinely  in 


TWILIGHT  81 

accord  with  you — and  anxious  to  help  in  any  way 
possible — may  be  of  some  little  value. 

I  beg  you  to  believe  that  this  is  so,  and  I  should 
welcome  the  chance  of  being  of  any  service  to  you. 
This  all  reads  very  formal  I  fear,  but  your  kindness 
must  interpret  the  spirit  rather  than  the  letter. 

Last  evening  I  went  into  an  old  curiosity  shop 
to  try  and  find  a  wedding-present  for  a  niece  who 
is  also  my  god-daughter,  and  I  secured  six  beautiful 
Chippendale  chairs.  Curiously  enough  the  man 
showed  me  what  he  said  was  the  best  specimen  of 
Staffordshire  he  had  ever  had.  A  group  of  musi- 
cians— seeming  to  my  inexperienced  eye  good  in 
colour  and  design.  I  know  not  what  impulse  per- 
suaded me  to  buy  the  piece.  To-day  I  am  fearing 
that  my  purchase  is  not  genuine.  May  I  bring  it 
to  you  on  Sunday  for  approval  or  condemnation? 
Don't  trouble  to  answer  if  you  will  be  at  home — 
I  will  call  at  five  o'clock. 

Now  I  must  return  to  less  pleasant  business 
affairs — the  telephone  is  insistent. 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

GABRIEL  STANTON. 


No.  8.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  S.W., 

I4th  February,  1902. 
Dear  Mr.  Stanton: — 

Thank  you  so  much  for  your  kind  letter,  it  made 
a  charming  savoury  to  that  little  luncheon  you 
ordered.  Did  I  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  it?  If 
not,  please  understand  I  am  doing  so  now.  The 
mousse  was  a  dream  of  delight,  the  roses  were  very 
helpful.  I  have  a  theory  about  flowers  and  food, 


82  TWILIGHT 

and  how  to  blend  them.  Which  reminds  me  that 
my  father  wants  to  share  with  me  in  the  pleasure  of 
your  acquaintance  and  bids  me  ask  if  you  will  dine 
with  us  on  the  24th  at  eight  o'clock.  This  of  course 
must  not  prevent  your  coming  Sunday  afternoon 
with  your  pottery  "  find."  I  am  more  than  curious, 
I  am  devoured  with  curiosity  to  see  it.  I  don't  know 
a  Staffordshire  "  group  of  musicians,"  it  sounds  like 
Chelsea !  Bring  it  by  all  means,  but  if  it  is  Stafford- 
shire and  not  in  my  collection,  I  warn  you  I  shall  at 
once  begin  bargaining  with  you,  spending  my  royal- 
ties in  advance !  Yes !  I  think  I  hate  business  too, 
as  you  say,  and  should  like  to  avoid  it.  We  were 
fairly  successful,  by  the  way,  in  the  Cafe  Royal! 
Our  talk  ranged  over  a  large  field,  became  rather 
personal — I  think  I  spoke  too  freely;  it  must  have 
been  the  Steinberger!  or  because  I  am  really  very 
worried  and  depressed.  Depression  is  the  old  age 
of  the  emotions,  and  garrulousness  its  distressing 
symptom. 

Yours  sincerely, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 


No.  9.  118  Greyfriars'  Square,  E.C., 

1 5th  February,  1902. 
Dear  Mrs.  Capel: — 

I  am  so  glad  to  have  your  letter  and  look  forward 
to  Sunday.  Should  my  little  pottery  "  find  "  prove 
authentic*  I  have  no  doubt  we  can  arrange  for  its 
transfer  to  you,  on  business  or  even  unbusiness 
lines ! 

I  accept  with  pleasure  your  invitation  to  dinner 
on  the  24th.  I  have  heard  often  of  your  father 


TWILIGHT  83 

from  my  friend  Wilfrid  Henning,  who  attends  to 
what  little  investments  I  make — and  who  meets 
your  father  in  connection  with  that  big  Newfound- 
land scheme  for  connecting  the  traffic  from  the 
Eastern  ports  to  Lake  Ontario.  I  should  value  the 
opportunity  to  hear  of  it,  first  hand. 
Yours  most  sincerely, 

GABRIEL  STANTON. 


No.  10.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  S.W., 

1 6th  February,  1902. 
Dear  Mr.  Stanton: — 

I  am  no  longer  puzzled  about  the  "  musicians  " ; 
it  is  Staffordshire,  I  was  convinced  of  that  from  the 
first  but  had  to  confirm  my  impression.  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it  when  we  meet  again  (on  the  24th), 
I  am  sure  you  will  be  interested.  I  want  you  to  let 
me  have  it.  Whatever  you  paid  for  it  I  will  give 
you,  and  any  profit  you  like.  I  won't  bargain  with 
you,  but  I  really  feel  I  can  never  part  with  it  again. 
It  was  a  wonderful  chance  that  you  should  find 
it.  Wasn't  Sunday  altogether  strange?  Such  a 
crowd,  and  so  difficult  to  talk.  I  shall  have  to  get 
out  of  London,  I  have  a  sense  of  fatigue  all  the 
time,  of  restless  incoherent  fear.  I  dread  sympathy, 
and  scent  curiosity  as  if  it  were  carrion.  In  that 
little  talk  I  had  among  the  tea-things  I  said  none  of 
the  things  I  meant.  I  believe  you  understood  this, 
although  you  only  said  yes,  and  yes  again  to  my 
wildest  suggestions.  I  am  only  epigrammatic  when 
I  am  shy;  it  is  the  form  taken  by  my  mental  stam- 
mer. Epigrams  come  to  me  too,  when  I  have  a 
scene  in  my  head  too  big  to  write.  I  find  my  hand 


84  TWILIGHT 

shaking,  heart  beating,  tremulous.  Then  my  queer 
brain  relieves  the  pressure  on  my  feelings  and 
stammers  out  my  scene  in  short  cryptic  sentences. 
That  is  why,  although  I  am  an  emotional  thinker, 
I  am  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  an  intellectual 
writer. 

And  now  for  the  agreement,  in  which  I  have 
ventured  to  make  alterations,  and  even  additions. 
Will  you  return  it  to  me  with  comments  if  you  think 
I  have  been  too  difficult  or  exacting.  My  father  tells 
me  I  have  inherited  his  business  ability.  He  means 
to  pay  me  a  compliment,  but  I  gather  your  point  of 
view  is  that  business  ability  is  but  deformity  in  an 
intellectual  woman?  I'm  sorry  for  this  deformity 
of  mine,  realising  the  unfavourable  impression  it 
may  create.  Try  and  forgive  me  for  it,  won't  you  ? 
You  need  not  even  remember  it  when  you  are  telling 
me  what  I  am  to  give  you  for  the  Staffordshire 
piece ! 

With  kind  regards, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 

No.  n.  118  Greyfriars'  Square,  E.G., 

1 7th  February,  1902. 
Dear  Mrs.  Capel: — 

What  good  news  about  the  little  "  Staffordshire  " 
piece !  I  am  really  delighted.  Please  don't  mar  my 
pleasure  in  thinking  of  it  happily  housed  with  you 
by  questions  of  price  or  bargaining.  Rather  add 
to  my  pride  in  my  "  find  "  by  accepting  it  as  a 
small  recognition  of  my  great  good  fortune  in 
having  made  your  acquaintance. 

Out  of  the  chatter  and  clatter  of  the  tea  on 


TWILIGHT  85 

Sunday  the  things  you  said  remain  with  me;  if  they 
were  epigrams  they  were  vivid  and  to  me  very  real. 

I  hated  everything  that  interrupted — and  hated 
going  away.  Quite  humbly  I  say  that  I  think  I  did 
understand,  and  was  longing  to  tell  you  so.  But  I 
have  never  had  the  tongue  of  a  ready  speaker,  and 
as  I  left  your  beautiful  home  I  was  choked  with 
unspoken  words  a  cleverer  man  would  have  found 
more  quickly. 

How  much  I  wished  I  could  have  expressed  my- 
self. I  wanted  to  say  that  I  had  no  hateful  curiosity, 
but  only  an  overwhelming  sympathy  and  desire  for 
your  confidence,  a  bedrock  craving  for  your  friend- 
ship. May  I  be  your  friend?  May  I?  Or  am  I 
presuming  on  your  kindness  and  too  short  an 
acquaintanceship  ? 

Anyhow,  I  can't  write  on  business,  the  contract 
is  to  go  through  with  all  your  alterations. 

Looking  forward  to  the  24th,  I  need  only  sign, 
Au  revoir, 

Yours  very  truly, 

GABRIEL  STANTON. 

No.  12.  211  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  S.W., 

1 8th  February,  1902. 
Dear  Mr.  Stanton: — 

I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  "  The  Musicians," 
that  is  why  I  have  not  already  written  to  say  it !  I 
have  not  put  the  group  into  my  collection,  it  is  on 
my  bedroom  mantelpiece.  I  see  it  when  I  first  wake 
in  the  morning,  it  is  the  last  thing  upon  which  my 
tired  eyes  rest  before  I  turn  off  the  light  at  night. 
Sometimes  I  think  those  musicians  are  playing  the 
prelude  to  the  friendship  of  which  you  speak. 


86  TWILIGHT 

I  wonder  why  you  are  so  curiously  sympathetic  to 
me,  and  why  I  mind  so  little  admitting  it.  Friend- 
ship has  been  rare  in  my  life.  You  offer  me  yours, 
and  I  am  on  the  point  of  accepting  it;  thinking  all 
the  time  what  it  may  mean,  what  I  can  give  you  in 
return.  An  hour  now  and  again  of  detached  talk,  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  with  my  literary  affairs  .  .  . 
there  is  not  much  in  that  for  you;  is  there?  Are 
the  Musicians  really  a  gift?  They  must  go  on  play- 
ing to  me  softly  then,  and  the  prelude  be  slow  and 
long-drawn-out.  I  am  afraid  even  of  friendship, 
that  is  the  truth.  I'm  disillusioned,  disappointed, 
tired.  Nothing  has  ever  happened  to  me  as  I  meant 
it.  When  I  first  came  from  America  with  my 
father,  I  was  full  of  the  wildest  hopes,  and  now  I 
have  outlived  them  all.  It  is  not  an  affectation,  it  is 
a  profound  truth,  and  at  twenty-eight  I  find  myself 
worn  out,  dimmed,  exhausted.  I  have  had  fame 
(a  small  measure  of  it,  but  enough  for  comparison), 
wealth,  and  that  horrid  nightmare,  love. 

My  father  spoiled  me  when  I  was  small,  believed 
too  much  in  me.  He  thought  me  a  genius,  and  I 
.  .  .  perhaps  I  thought  so  too.  I  puzzled  and  per- 
plexed him,  and  he  felt  overweighted  with  his 
responsibilities,  with  character-studying  an  egotistic 
girl  of  sixteen.  The  result  was  a  stepmother.  Can 
you  imagine  what  I  suffered!  She  began  almost 
immediately  to  suffocate  me  with  her  kindness.  She 
too  admitted  I  was  a  genius.  Do  you  know  we  had 
the  idea,  these  besotted  parents  of  mine  and  I,  that 
I  was  to  be  a  great  pianist !  I  practised  many  hours 
a  day,  sustained  by  jellies,  and  beef-tea  and  encour- 
agement. I  had  the  best  teachers,  a  few  weeks  in 
Dresden  with  Lentheric,  my  father  poured  out  his 


TWILIGHT  87 

money  like  water.  The  end  of  that  period  was  a 
prolonged  fainting  fit,  the  first  of  many,  the 
discovery  I  had  a  weak  heart,  that  the  exertion  of 
piano-playing  affected  it  unfavourably.  I  came  back 
from  Dresden  at  eighteen,  was  presented  the  same 
year,  the  papers  said  I  was  beautiful;  father  put 
himself  out  of  the  way  to  be  nice  to  pressmen;  he 
had  acquired  the  habit  in  America  whilst  he  was 
building  up  his  fortune.  That  I  was  accounted 
beautiful  and  could  play  Chopin  and  was  to  have  a 
fortune,  made  me  appear  also  brilliant.  My  father 
paid  for  the  printing  of  my  first  book.  My  first 
one-act  play  was  performed  at  a  West  End  theatre. 
Then  I  met  James  Capel.  Mr.  Justice  Jeune  knows 
the  story  of  my  married  life  better  than  any  one 
else.  I  was  high-spirited  before  it  began.  At  the 
end  of  a  year  I  was  physically,  mentally,  morally 
a  wreck.  I  don't  know  which  of  us  hated  the  other 
more,  my  husband  or  I.  Anyway,  he  made  no 
objection  to  my  returning  to  my  father.  My  step- 
mother's suffocating  kindness  descended  upon  me 
again,  and  now  I  found  it  healing.  When  I  was 
healed  I  wrote  "  The  Immoralists."  Then  my 
father's  pride  in  me  revived.  He  and  my  step- 
mother kept  open  house  and  collected  celebrities  to 
show  the  dimness  of  their  light  as  a  background  for 
my  supposed  more  brilliant  shining!  Society  was 
pleased  to  come,  my  father  growing  always  richer. 
...  I  wrote  "The  Farce  of  Fearlessness"  and 
"Love  and  the  Lutist "  about  this  time,  and  my 
other  play.  When  my  husband  made  it  imperative 
by  his  proved  and  public  blackguardism  I  resorted  to 
the  law,  and  acting  under  advice,  fought  him  in  the 
arena  he  chose,  and  have  now  won  my  freedom,  but 


88  TWILIGHT 

at  an  incredible,  hardly  yet  to  be  realised  cost,  all 
my  wounds  exposed  in  the  market-place. 

I  wonder  why  I  am  recapitulating  all  this.  I  think 
it  is  to  show  you  I  am  in  no  mood  for  friendship. 
There  are  times  when  I  am  savage  with  pain,  and 
times  when  I  am  exhausted  from  it,  times  when  I 
feel  bruised  all  over,  so  tender  that  the  touch  of 
a  word  brings  tears,  times  when  my  overwhelming 
pity  for  myself  leaves  me  incapable  of  realizing 
anything  beyond  my  wrongs.  I  say  I  have  won  my 
freedom,  but  even  this  is  untrue :  at  present  I  have 
only  won  six  months  of  probation,  during  which  I 
am  still  James  Capel's  wife.  Sometimes  I  think 
I  shall  never  live  through  them,  the  stain  of  my 
connection  with  him  is  like  mortification. 

The  prelude  played  by  the  Musicians  is  a  prelude 
to  a  dream. 

And  still  I  am  grateful  you  gave  them  to  me. 
Your  very  truly, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 

When  I  had  read  as  far  as  this  the  codein  exerted 
its  influence.  My  eyelids  drooped,  I  slept  and  re- 
covered myself.  The  sense  of  what  I  was  reading 
began  to  escape,  I  knew  it  was  time  to  put  the  bundle 
away.  There  were  not  very  many  more  letters.  I 
put  all  the  papers  on  the  table  by  my  side,  then 
dropped  off.  Margaret  betrayed  herself  completely 
in  her  letters.  Gabriel  Stanton  was  still  a  strange 
unrealisable  figure. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  few  words  I  had  with  Nurse  Benham  the  next 
morning  cleared  the  air  and  the  situation  between 
us.  The  strange  thing  was  that  at  first  she  did  not 
notice  the  parcel  at  all,  still  loose  and  untidy  in  the 
paper  in  which  Dr.  Kennedy  had  enwrapped  it.  Not 
until  I  told  her  to  be  careful  not  to  spill  the  tea 
over  it  did  it  strike  her  to  wonder  how  it  came  there. 

"  Did  Suzanne  give  you  that  ?  "  she  asked  suspi- 
ciously. 

"  She  has  not  been  in  my  room  since  you  left 
me." 

"  That's  the  very  parcel  you  asked  for  the  other 
night.  How  ever  did  you  get  hold  of  it  ?  " 

"  After  you  left  me  I  got  out  of  bed  and  fetched 
it." 

"  You  got  out  of  bed ! "  She  grew  red  in  the 
face  with  rage  or  incredulity. 

"  Yes,  twice.  Once  for  the  parcel  and  once  for 
the  scissors !  " 

She  did  not  speak  at  once,  standing  there  with  her 
flushed  face.  So  I  went  on : 

"  It  is  absurd  for  you  to  insist  on  me  doing  this 
or  that,  or  leaving  it  undone.  You  are  here  to  take 
care  of  me,  not  to  bully  and  tyrannise  over  me." 

89 


90  TWILIGHT 

"  I  am  no  good  to  you  at  all.  I'd  better  go.  You 
will  take  matters  into  your  own  hands.  I  never 
knew  such  a  patient,  never.  One  would  think  you'd 
no  sense  at  all,  that  you  didn't  know  how  ill  you 
were." 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  be  allowed 
to  get  better.  Believe  me,  the  only  way  for  that 
to  come  about  is  that  I  should  be  allowed  to  lead  my 
own  life  in  my  own  way." 

"  To  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  with  the 
window  wide  open,  to  walk  about  the  room  in  your 
nightgown !  " 

"  I  should  not  have  done  so,  you  know,  if  you  had 
passed  me  the  things  when  I  asked  you  for  them." 

"  You  don't  want  a  nurse  at  all,"  she  repeated. 

"  Yes,  I  do.    What  I  don't  want  is  a  gaoler." 

I  was  on  the  sofa  when  Dr.  Kennedy  called,  the 
papers  on  the  table  beside  me.  He  asked  eagerly 
what  I  thought  of  them : 

"  I  see  you  have  got  at  them.  Are  you  disap- 
pointed, exhilarated?  Are  they  illuminative?  Tell 
me  about  them ;  I  want  so  much  to  hear." 

He  had  forgotten  to  ask  how  I  was. 

"  I  will  tell  you  about  them  presently.  I  haven't 
read  them  all.  Up  to  now  they  are  certainly 
disappointing,  if  not  dull !  They  are  business  letters, 
to  begin  with.  But  it  is  obvious  she  is  trying  to  get 
up  something  like  a  flirtation  with  him." 

"Oh,  no!" 


TWILIGHT  91 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  have  watched  Ella,  my  sister  Mrs. 
Lovegrove,  for  years.  She  is  past  mistress  of  the 
art  of  flirtation.  Sentiment  and  the  appeal  of  her 
femininity,  a  note  of  unhappiness  and  the  suggestion 
the  man's  friendship  may  assuage  it  ..." 

"  Mrs.  Lovegrove  is  a  very  charming  woman. 
But  Margaret  Capel  was  not  in  the  least  like  her." 

"  Or  any  other  woman?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  have  put  yourself  out  of  court.  No  woman 
is  unlike  any  other.  Your  '  pale  fair  Margaret ' 
admits,  from  the  first,  that  Gabriel  Stanton  attracts 
her.  And  this  at  a  moment  when  she  should  allow 
herself  to  be  attracted  by  no  man.  When  she  has 
just  gone  through  the  horrors  of  the  Divorce  Court." 

"  You  are  not  bringing  that  up  against  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  bringing  anything  up  against  her. 
But  you  asked  me  about  the  letters.  I  have  only 
read  a  dozen  of  them,  and  that  is  how  they  strike 
me.  A  little  dull  and,  on  her  part,  flirtatious." 

"  I  hope  you  won't  do  the  book  at  all  if  you  don't 
feel  sympathetic." 

"  Believe  me  I  shall  be  sympathetic  if  there  is 
anything  with  which  to  sympathise.  Do  you  know 
her  early  life,  or  history?  It  is  hinted  at,  partly 
revealed  here,  but  I  should  like  to  see  it  clearly." 

"Won't  she  tell  you  herself?"  He  smiled.  I 
answered  his  smile. 

"  She  has  left  off  coming  since  I  have  begun  to 


92  TWILIGHT 

get  well.  I  shall  have  to  write  the  book,  if  I  write 
it  at  all,  without  further  help.  By  the  way,  talking 
about  getting  better,  I  know  that  doctoring  bores 
you,  but  I  want  to  know  how  much  better  I  am 
going  to  get  ?  I  am  as  weak  as  a  rat ;  my  legs  refuse 
to  carry  me,  my  hand  shakes  when  I  get  a  pen  in  it. 
I  shall  get  the  story  into  my  head  from  these 
papers,"  I  added,  with  something  of  the  depression 
that  I  was  feeling :  "  But  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  get 
it  out  again.  I  don't  see  how  I  shall  ever  have  the 
strength  to  put  it  on  paper." 

"  That  will  come.  There  is  no  hurry  about  that. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  I  believe  letters  are  copyright 
for  fourteen  years.  It  isn't  twelve  yet." 

It  was  not  worth  while  to  put  him  right  on  the 
t  pyright  acts. 

"  You'll  be  going  downstairs  next  week,  you'll  be 
at  your  writing-table,  her  writing-table  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. You  ask  me  about  her  early  life.  I  only 
know  her  father  was  a  wealthy  American  absolutely 
devoted  to  her.  He  married  for  the  second  time 
when  she  was  fifteen  or  sixteen  and  they  both 
concentrated  on  her.  She  was  remarkable  even  as  a 
child,  obviously  a  genius,  very  beautiful." 

"  She  outgrew  that,"  I  said  emphatically. 

"  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,"  he  insisted. 
And  then  said  more  lightly,  "  You  must  remember 
you  have  only  seen  her  ghost."  The  retort  pleased 
me  and  I  let  the  subject  of  Margaret  Capel's  beauty 


TWILIGHT  93 

drop.  She  interested  me  less  when  I  felt  well,  and 
notwithstanding  my  active  night  I  felt  compara- 
tively well  this  morning.  Since  I  could  not  get  him 
to  take  my  weakness  seriously  I  told  him  my  griev- 
ance against  nurse. 

"  When  she  hears  I  am  to  go  down  next  week  she 
will  have  a  fit.  I  wish  for  once  you  would  use  your 
medical  authority  and  tell  her  I  am  on  no  account 
to  be  contradicted  or  thwarted." 

"  I'll  tell  her  so  if  you  like,  but  I  never  see  her. 
She  runs  like  a  rabbit  when  I  come  near." 

"  You  are  not  professional  enough  for  her  taste, 
there  are  too  few  examinations  and  prescriptions. 
How  is  my  unsatisfactory  lung,  by  the  way?  Give 
a  guess,  something  scientific  to  retail.  I  must  keep 
Ella  informed." 

"  There  has  not  been  time  for  the  physical  signs 
to  have  cleared  up  yet.  I'll  listen  if  you  like,  but 
after  seeing  all  those  specialists  I  should  have 
thought  you  were  tired  of  saying  '  99  '." 

"  They  varied  it  sometimes.  '  999  '  seems  to  be 
the  latest  wheeze." 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  left  off  seeing  Margaret," 
he  sighed. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  I  laughed  at  him.  "  You  should 
not  have  dropped  giving  me  the  morphia  so  soon." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  it." 

"  It  was  dulling  my  brain.  I  felt  myself  growing 
stupid  and  more  stupid." 


94  TWILIGHT 

"  You  only  had  one-quarter  grain  twice  a  day  for 
the  inside  of  a  week,  and  there  was  atropin  in  it.  If 
it  had  really  had  a  deadening  effect  upon  you  you 
would  not  have  refused  it,  but  just  gone  on.  Not 
that  I  believe  anything  would  ever  dull  your  brain." 

I  wished  Ella  could  have  heard  him,  it  would  have 
confirmed  her  in  her  folly  and  made  for  my  amuse- 
ment. He  left  shortly  after  paying  me  that  remark- 
able compliment,  but  stopped  on  his  way  out  to  speak 
to  Benham.  The  immediate  effect  of  his  words  was 
to  make  her  silent  and  perhaps  sullen  for  a  few 
hours.  After  which,  but  still  under  protest,  she 
gave  me  whatever  I  asked  for,  and  began  to  be 
more  like  other  nurses  in  the  time  she  took  off  duty 
for  exercise,  sleep,  and  meals.  She  even  yawned  in 
my  face  on  the  rare  occasions  when  I  summoned 
her  in  the  night.  I  tried  to  chaff  her  back  into  good 
humour,  but  without  much  success. 

"  Do  you  find  me  any  worse  for  having  got  out  of 
leading  strings?  "  I  asked  her.  "  Have  pencils  and 
MS.  paper  sent  up  my  temperature  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  out  of  the  wood  yet,"  she  retorted 
angrily. 

"  No,  but  I  am  enjoying  its  unbrageous  rest,"  I 
returned.  "  Reading  my  papers  in  the  shadows." 

"  Shadow  enough !  " 

"  That's  right.  Mind  you  go  on  keeping  up  my 
spirits."  She  did  smile  then,  but  she  was  obviously 
dissatisfied,  both  with  me  and  Dr.  Kennedy.  I  was 


TWILIGHT  95 

taking  no  drugs,  doing  a  little  more  each  day,  in  the 
way  of  moving  about.  And  yet  I  could  not  call 
myself  convalescent.  My  legs  were  stiff  and  my 
back  heavy.  I  had  no  feeling  of  returning  vigour. 
What  little  I  did  I  forced  myself  to  do.  I  had 
hardly  the  energy  to  finish  the  letters.  Had  it  not 
been  for  Dr.  Kennedy  I  don't  believe,  at  this  stage, 
I  should  have  finished  them!  Although  the  next 
two  or  three  set  me  thinking,  and  I  was  again 
visualising  the  writers.  Not  that  Gabriel  Stanton 
betrayed  himself  in  his  letters,  as  Margaret  did  in 
hers.  I  had  to  reconcile  him  with  the  donnish  master 
of  Greek  roots,  whom  I  had  met  and  been  ignored 
by,  in  Greyfriars'  Square.  This  was  his  answer  to 
her  last  effusion. 

No.  13.  1 1 8  Greyfriars'  Square, 

1 9th  February,  1902. 
Dear  Mrs.  Capel: — 

I  have  read  your  letter  ten — twenty  times;  my 
business  day  was  filled  and  transformed  by  it.  Now 
it  is  midnight  and  I  am  alone  in  the  stillness  of  my 
room,  the  routine  of  the  day  and  the  evening  over, 
and  my  brain,  not  always  very  quick,  alight  with 
the  wonderment  of  your  words,  and  my  restless 
anxiety  to  respond.  Don't,  I  implore  you,  belittle 
the  possibility  of  friendship! 

Surely  the  value  of  it  is  only  proved  by  its  needs? 

May  I  not  say  that  in  this  crisis  in  your  life 
friendship  may  be  much  to  you.  Can  I  hope  that  my 
privilege  may  be  to  fill  the  need  ? 


96  TWILIGHT 

Fowhave  been  so  splendidly  frank  and  outspoken. 
7  have  suffered  all  my  life  from  a  sort  of  stupid 
reticence,  probably  cowardly.  But  to-night,  and 
to  you,  I  want  to  throw  off  the  habit  of  years  and 
not  miss,  before  it  is  too  late,  the  luxury  of  being 
natural. 

Well,  I  am  hot  with  hatred  that  you  should  have 
been  hurt,  and  yet  I  am  happy  that  you  have  told 
me  of  your  wounds.  To-night  I  pray  that  it  may 
be  given  to  me  to  heal  them. 

I  am  writing  this  because  I  must — though  conven- 
tionally the  shortness  of  our  acquaintance  does  not 
justify  me.  But  I  have  been  conventional  so  long — 
circumstance  has  ruled  and  limited  my  doings.  And 
tonight  it  comes  to  me  that  chance  and  fate  are,  or 
should  be,  greater  than  environment.  The  Gods 
only  rarely  offer  gifts,  and  the  blackness  and  blank- 
ness  of  despair  follow  their  refusal.  So  I  cling  to 
the  hope  that  they  have  now  offered  me  a  precious 
gift,  and  that  in  spite  of  all  your  pain — all  the  past 
which  now  so  embitters  you,  to  me  may  come  the 
chance  in  some  small  way  of  proving  to  you  that 
in  friendship  there  is  healing,  and  in  sympathy  and 
understanding,  at  least  the  hope  of  forgetfulness. 

I  shall  hardly  dare  to  read  over  what  I  have 
written,  for  I  should  either  be  conscious  that  it  is 
inadequate  to  express  what  I  have  wanted  to  say 
to  you — or  that  I  have  presumed  too  much  in  writing 
what  is  in  my  mind. 

Look  upon  those  Musicians  as  playing  a  prelude, 
not  to  a  dream  but  to  a  happier  future,  and  then 
my  pleasure  in  the  little  gift  will  be  enormously 
increased. 

It  has  been  a  sort  of  joke  in  my  family  that  I  am 


TWILIGHT  97 

over-cautious  and  too  deliberate,  but  for  to-night 
at  least  in  these  still  quiet  hours  I  mean  to  conquer 
this,  and  go  out  to  post  this  letter  myself ;  just  as  I 
have  written  it,  with  no  alteration;  yet  with  confi- 
dence in  the  kindness  you  have  already  shown  me. 
And  I  shall  see  you  at  dinner  on  Thursday. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 

GABRIEL  STANTON. 


A  little  over  a  fortnight  passed  before  there  was 
any  further  correspondence.  Meanwhile  the  two 
must  have  met  frequently.  Her  letters  were  often 
undated,  and  her  figures  even  more  difficult  to  read 
than  her  handwriting  generally.  The  hieroglyphic 
over  the  following  looks  like  5,  but  I  could  not  be 
sure.  The  intimacy  between  them  must  have  grown 
apace,  and  yet  the  running  away  could  have  been 
nothing  but  a  ruse.  There  could  have  been  little 
fear  of  so  sedate  a  lover  as  Gabriel  Stanton.  I 
found  something  artificial  in  the  next  letter  of  hers, 
recapitulative,  as  if  already  she  had  publication  in 
her  mind.  Of  course  it  is  more  difficult  for  a  novel- 
ist or  a  playwright  to  be  genuine  and  simple  with  a 
pen  than  it  is  for  a  person  of  a  different  avocation, 
but  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  much  better  than 
Margaret  Ella  would  have  acted  her  part,  and  my 
sympathy  began  to  flow  more  definitely  toward  the 
inexperienced  gentleman,  no  longer  young,  to  whom 
she  was  introducing  the  game  of  flirtation  under  the 
old  name  of  Platonic  friendship. 


98  TWILIGHT 

No.  14.  Carbies, 

Pineland, 
March  5th,  1902. 

I  have  run  away,  you  realise  this,  don't  you, 
simply  turned  tail  and  run.  That  long  dinner  which 
seemed  so  short ;  the  British  Museum  the  next  day, 
and  your  illuminating  lecture  so  abruptly  ended — • 
that  dreadful  lunch  .  .  .  boiled  fish  and  ginger 
beer !  Ye  Gods !  Greek  or  Roman,  how  could  you 
appear  satisfied,  eat  with  appetite?  I  sickened  in 
the  atmosphere.  Thursday  at  the  National  Gallery 
was  better.  Our  taste  in  pictures  is  the  same  if  our 
taste  in  food  differs.  But  perhaps  you  did  not  know 
what  you  were  given  in  the  refreshment  room  of  the 
British  Museum  ?  I  throw  out  this  suggestion  as  an 
extenuating  circumstance,  for  I  find  it  difficult  to 
forgive  you  that  languid  cod  and  its  egg  sauce.  Our 
other  two  meals  together  were  so  different.  That 
first  lunch  at  the  Cafe  Royal  was  perfect  in  its  way. 
As  for  our  dinner,  did  I  not  myself  superintend  the 
menu,  curb  the  exuberance  of  the  chef  and  my 
stepmother;  dock  the  unfashionable  sorbet;  change 
Mayonnaise  sauce  into  Hollandaise ;  duck  and  green 
peas  into  an  idealised  animal  of  the  same  variety, 
stuffed  with  foie  gras,  enriched  and  decorated  with 
cherries?  For  you  I  devoted  myself  to  the  decora- 
tion of  the  table,  interested  myself  in  the  wine  list 
my  father  produced,  discussed  vintages  with  our 
pompous  and  absurd  butler.  I  must  tell  you  a  story 
about  that  butler.  You  said  he  looked  like  an 
Archdeacon.  Can  you  imagine  an  Archdeacon  in 
the  Divorce  Court  ?  No !  No !  No !  Nothing  to  do 
with  mine.  Had  it  been  I  could  not  have  written 
of  it,  the  very  thought  sets  me  writhing  again. 


TWILIGHT  99 

Poor  Burden  was  with  the  Sylvestres,  you  remember 
the  case.  Everybody  defended  and  it  was  fought 
for  five  interminable  days.  The  papers  devoted 
columns  to  it,  nothing  else  was  discussed  in  the 
Clubs,  the  whole  air  of  London — Mayfair  end — 
was  foetid  and  foul  with  it.  Burden  was  a  witness, 
he  had  seen  too  much,  and  his  evidence  sent  poor 
silly  Ann  Sylvestre  to  hide  her  divorced  and  dis- 
graced head  in  Monte  Carlo.  And  can  a  head 
properly  ondule  be  said  to  be  divorced?  Heavens! 
how  my  pen  runs  on,  or  away,  like  me.  And  I 
haven't  come  to  the  story,  which  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it  is  not  so  very  good.  I  will  tell  you 
it  in  Burden's  own  words.  He  applied  for  our 
situation  through  a  registry  office,  and  stood  before 
my  stepmother  and  me,  hat  in  hand,  sorrowful,  but 
always  dignified,  as  he  answered  questions. 

"  My  last  situation  was  with  a  Mrs.  Solomon. 
I'm  sorry,  milady,  to  have  to  ask  you  to  take  up  a 
character  from  such  people.  I'd  always  been  in  the 
best  service  before  that  ...  I  was  hallboy  with 
the  Jutes,  third  and  then  second  with  His  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Richland,  first  footman  under  the  Countess 
Foreglass.  I  was  five  years  with  the  Sylvestres; 
you  know,  Ma'am,  he  was  first  cousin  to  the  Duke 
of  Trent,  near  to  the  Throne  itself,  as  one  might 
say.  I'd  never  lowered  myself  to  an  untitled  family 
before.  But  after  the  divorce  I  couldn't  get  nothing. 
Ma'am,  I  hope  you'll  believe  me,  but  from  the 
moment  I  accepted  Mr.  Solomon's  place  all  I  was 
planning  to  do  was  to  get  out  of  it.  They  was 
Jews,  if  I  may  mention  such  a  thing  to  you.  I  took 
ten  pounds  a  year  less  than  I'd  had  at  his  Lordship's, 
but  Mr.  Solomon,  he  said  in  his  facetious  way  that 


ioo  TWILIGHT 

being  in  the  witness  box  'ad  knocked  at  least  ten 
pounds  off  my  value,  an'  he  ground  me  down.  But 
I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  take  up  my  character  from 
him.  That's  the  worst  of  it,  Ma'am,  milady." 

We  had  to  break  it  to  him  that  we  were  without 
titles,  but  he  said  sorrowfully  that  having  been  in  a 
witness  box  in  the  divorce  court  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  stand  out. 

Burden  and  I  have  always  been  on  good  terms. 
I  understand  him,  you  see,  his  point  of  view,  and 
his  descent  in  the  social  scale  when  he  went  to  live 
with  Jews.  What  I  was  going  to  tell  you  was,  that 
notwithstanding  our  friendship  he  resented  my  inter- 
ference in  his  department  when  I  insisted  on  select- 
ing the  wine  for  your — our — dinner  party.  I  am 
almost  sorry  I  quarrelled  with  him  on  your  account. 
He  looks  at  me  coldly  now,  he  is  remembering  my 
American  blood,  despising  it.  And  to  think  I  have 
lost  the  priceless  regard  of  Burden  for  a  man  who 
can  eat  boiled  and  tired  cod,  masked  with  egg  sauce, 
washed  down  with  ginger  beer ! 

Where  was  I?  The  sculpture  at  the  British 
Museum ;  then  the  next  day  at  the  National  Gallery. 
Our  spirits  kneeled  there;  we  grew  small.  No,  we 
didn't,  I'm  disingenuous.  We  said  so,  not  meaning 
it  in  the  least.  After  twenty  minutes  we  forgot  all 
about  the  pictures.  Rumpelmayer's,  St.  James's 
Park,  out  to  Coombe. 

Did  you  realise  we  were  seeing  each  other  every 
day,  how  much  time  we  spent  together? 

Am  I  eighteen  or  twenty-eight  ?  You've  a  reputa- 
tion for  knowing  more  about  Greek  roots  than  any 
other  Englishman.  Should  I  have  run  away  down 
here  if  you  had  talked  about  Greek  roots?  I'm 


TWILIGHT  ioi 

excited,  exhausted,  bewildered.  For  three  nights 
sleep  failed  me.  Nothing  is  so  wonderful  as  a 
perfect  friendship  between  a  man  of  your  age  and  a 
woman  of  mine.  Why  did  you  change  your  mind, 
or  your  note,  so  quickly  yesterday?  /  knew  all  the 
time  what  was  happening  to  us.  I  think  there  is 
-something  arrogant  in  your  humility.  I  am  natur- 
ally so  much  more  outspoken  than  you,  although  my 
troubles  have  made  me  more  fearful.  You  are  a 
strange  man.  I  think  you  may  send  me  a  portrait. 
When  I  try  to  recall  you,  you  don't  always  come 
whole,  only  bits  of  you,  inconsistent  bits,  a  gleam 
of  humour  in  your  eyes,  your  stoop,  the  height  that 
makes  us  so  incongruous  together.  I  like  you, 
Gabriel  Stanton,  and  I've  run  away  from  you ;  that's 
the  truth.  That  disingenuous  aggressive  humility 
of  yours  is  a  subtle  appeal  to  my  sympathies.  I 
don't  want  to  sympathise  with  you  overmuch,  with 
the  loneliness  of  your  life,  or  anything  about  you. 
We  were  meeting  too  often,  talking  too  freely.  I 
curl  up  and  want  to  hide  when  I  think  of  some  of 
the  things  we  have  said  (7  have  said!!!).  I  know 
I  am  too  impulsive. 

I'm  going  to  settle  down  here  and  start  seriously 
on  my  Staffordshire  Potters.  I've  taken  the  house 
for  three  months.  If  I  had  not  already  written  the 
longest  letter  ever  penned  I'd  describe  it  to  you. 
Perhaps  I'll  write  again  if  you  encourage  me.  Think 
of  me  as  a  novelist  out  of  work,  using  up  my  MS. 
paper.  Down  here  everything  has  become  unreal. 
You  and  I,  but  especially  "  us"\  I  want  every- 
thing to  be  unreal,  I'm  not  strong  enough  for  more 
reality.  Keep  unsubstantial.  I  don't  suppose  you 
will  understand  me  (I  am  not  sure  that  I  under- 


102  TWILIGHT 

stand  myself).  But  you  begged  me  to  "  let  myself 
go,"  "  pour  myself  out  on  you."  Can  I  take  your 
strength  and  lean  upon  it,  the  tenderness  you  promise 
me  and  revel  in  it,  all  that  I  believe  you  are  offering 
me,  and  give  you  nothing?  I  am  mean,  afraid  of 
giving.  It  all  came  so  quickly,  so  unexpectedly.  I 
have  never  had  a  real  companion.  Never,  never, 
never  even  as  a  child  been  wholly  natural  with  any- 
body, posing  always.  The  only  daughter  of  a 
millionaire  with  more  talent  than  she  ought  to  have, 
a  shy  soul  behind  a  brazen  forehead,  is  in  a  difficult 
position.  To  undrape  that  shy  soul  of  mine  as  you 
so  nearly  make  me  do,  unwillingly — but  it  might 
happen — makes  me  shiver.  That's  why  I  ran  away, 
I  want  to  be  isolated,  to  stand  alone.  Here  is  the 
truth  again,  not  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  but  at  the 
end  of  an  interminable  letter.  I  am  afraid  of  pain, 
and  this  intimacy  presages  it.  You  cannot  be  all  I 
think  you.  I  don't  want  to  be  near  enough  to  see 
your  clay  feet. 

I  am  going  to  get  some  picture  postcards  with 
small  space  for  writing;  this  MS.  paper  demoralises 
me. 

Sincerely, 

MARGARET  CAPEL. 

No.  15. 

Will  you  ever  know  what  your  dear  wonderful 
letter  has  given  me?  I  passed  through  moments 
of  doubt,  of  bewildered  unbelief  into  a  golden  trance 
of  joy  and  hope.  And  as  again  and  again  I  read  it 
some  of  your  far  braver  personality  fills  me,  and 
I  refuse  to  think  this  new  spring  of  hope  is  a  mere 


TWILIGHT  103 

dream,  and  take  courage  and  tell  myself  I  am  some- 
thing to  you — something  in  your  life,  and  that  to 
me,  Gabriel  Stanton,  has  come  at  last  the  chance  of 
helping,  tending,  caring  for  against  all  the  world 
if  need  be,  such  a  woman  as  Margaret  Capel. 

Let  me  revel  in  this  new  strange  happiness.  You 
are  too  kind,  too  generous  to  destroy  it !  For  it  is 
all  strange  and  marvellous  to  me — I've  lived  so 
much  alone — have  missed  so  much  by  circumstance 
and  the  fault  of  what  you  call  my  "  aggressive 
humility."  I  can  help  you !  As  I  write  I  feel  I  want 
nothing  else  in  life.  Oh!  my  wonderful  friend, 
don't  let  us  miss  a  relationship  which  on  my  part 
I  swear  to  you  shall  be  consecrated  to  your  service, 
to  your  happiness  in  any  and  every  way  you  decide 
or  will  ask.  Let  me  come  into  your  life,  give  me 
the  chance  of  healing  those  wounds  which  have 
bruised  you  grievously,  but  can  never  conquer  your 
brave  spirit.  You  must  let  me  help. 

You  have  gone  away,  but  your  dear  letter  is  with 
me — it  is  so  much  your  letter — so  much  you  that 
I  am  not  even  lonely  any  more.  And  yet  I  long  to 
see  you — hear  you  talk,  be  near  you.  Thoughts — 
hopes — ideas,  crowd  upon  me  tonight,  things  to 

tell  you It  is  like  having  a  new  sense — I've 

wakened  up  in  a  new  and  so  beautiful  country.  Do 
you  wish  for  those  weeks  of  solitude?  Only  what 
you  wish  matters.  But  I  confess  I've  looked  up 
the  trains  to  Pineland.  I  will  come  on  any  day  at 
any  moment  you  say.  There  is  no  duty  that  could 
keep  me  should  you  say  "  come."  Give  me  at  least 
one  chance  of  seeing  you  in  your  new  home.  Then 
I  will  keep  away  and  respect  your  solitude  if  you 
wish  it. 


104  TWILIGHT 

The  joy  of  your  letter  and  the  golden  castles  I  am 
building  help  the  hours  until  I  hear  from  you. 

G.  S. 

It  is  my  opinion  still  that  she  only  ran  away  in 
order  to  bring  him  after  her,  to  secure  a  greater  soli- 
tude than  they  could  enjoy  in  places  of  public  resort, 
or  in  her  father's  house.  I  don't  mean  that  she 
deliberately  planned  what  followed,  but  had  that 
been  her  intention  she  could  have  devised  no  better 
strategy  than  to  leave  him  at  the  point  at  which  they 
had  arrived  without  a  word  of  farewell  other  than 
that  letter.  As  for  me,  when  I  had  finished  reading 
it  and  the  answer,  I  had  recourse  to  the  diary  and 
MS.  notes.  They  would,  however,  have  been  of  but 
little  use  had  not  a  second  dose  of  codein  that  night 
brought  me  again  in  closer  relation  with  the  writer. 


CHAPTER  VI 

As  I  said,  I  took  two  codein  pills  instead  of  one 
that  night,  and  in  an  hour  or  so  was  conscious  of 
the  comfort  and  phantasmagoria  of  morphia.  I 
was  no  longer  in  the  bedroom  of  which  I  had  tired, 
nor  in  the  rough  garden  without  trees  or  shade.  I 
had  escaped  from  these  and  in  returning  health  was 
beside  the  sea,  happily  listening  to  the  little  waves 
breaking  on  the  stones,  no  soul  in  sight  but  those 
two,  Margaret  Capel  and  Gabriel  Stanton,  in  earnest 
talk  that  came  to  me  as  I  sat  with  my  back  against  a 
rock,  the  salt  wind  in  my  face.  How  it  was  they  did 
not  see  me  and  moderate  their  voices  I  do  not 
know,  morphia  gives  one  these  little  lapses  and  sur- 
prises. 

Margaret  looked  extraordinarily  sedate  and  yet 
perverse,  her  thin  lips  pink  and  eyes  dancing.  I 
saw  the  incandescent  effect  of  which  Peter  Kennedy 
had  told  me.  It  was  not  only  her  eyes  that  were 
alight  but  the  woman  herself,  the  luminous  fair 
skin  and  the  fairness  of  her  hair  stirred  and  bright- 
ened by  the  sun  and  the  sea-wind.  She  talked  vividly, 
whilst  he  sat  at  her  feet  listening  intently,  offering 
her  the  homage  of  his  softened  angularities,  his 
abandoned  scholarship,  his  adoring  eyes. 

105 


io6  TWILIGHT 

"  Why  did  you  come  ?  I  told  you  not  to  come. 
Of  course  I  meant  to  wire  in  answer  to  your  letter 
that  you  were  to  stay  in  London.  What  was  the 
use  of  my  running  away  ?  " 

I  saw  that  he  fingered  the  hem  of  her  skirt,  and 
watched  her  all  the  time  she  spoke. 

"  Tomorrow  I  shall  have  no  expectation  in  the 
post.  I  hate  not  to  care  whether  my  letters  come  or 
not.  And  Monday  too.  You  have  spoiled  two 
mornings  for  me." 

"  I  am  not  as  satisfying  as  my  letters  to  you." 
Even  his  voice  was  changed,  the  musical  charming 
Stanton  voice.  His  had  deepened  and  there  was 
the  note  of  an  organ  in  it.  She  looked  at  him 
critically  or  caressingly. 

"  Not  quite,  not  yet.  I  understand  your  letters 
better  than  I  do  you.  And  you  are  never  twice 
alike,  not  quite  alike.  We  part  as  friends,  intimates. 
Then  we  come  together  again  and  you  are  almost  a 
stranger;  we  have  to  begin  all  over  again." 

"  I  am  sorry."  He  looked  perplexed.  "  How  do 
I  change  or  vary?  I  cannot  bear  to  think  that  you 
should  look  upon  me  as  a  stranger." 

"  Only  for  a  few  moments." 

"  When  you  met  me  at  the  station  today?  " 

"  I  was  at  the  station  early,  and  then  was  vexed 
I  had  come,  looking  about  me  to  see  if  there  were 
any  one  I  knew  or  who  knew  me.  I  took  refuge  at 
the  bookstall,  found  '  The  Immoralists '  among 


TWILIGHT  107 

the  two-shilling  soiled."  She  left  off  abruptly,  and 
her  face  clouded. 

"  Don't !  "  he  whispered. 

"  How  quick  you  are !  "  Now  their  hands  ,met. 
She  smiled  and  went  on  talking.  "  I  heard  a  click 
and  saw  that  the  signals  were  down.  The  train 
rounded  the  curve  and  came  in  slowly.  People 
descended ;  I  was  conscious  of  half  a  dozen,  although 
I  saw  but  one.  No,  I  didn't  see  you,  only  your 
covert  coat  and  felt  hat.  I  felt  a  pang  of  disappoint- 
ment." Their  hands  fell  apart.  I  saw  he  was  hurt. 
She  may  have  seen  it  too,  but  made  no  sign. 

"  It  was  not  your  fault,  you  had  done  nothing 
.  .  .  you  just  were  not  as  I  expected  you.  You  had 
cut  yourself  shaving,  for  one  thing."  He  put 
his  hand  to  his  chin  involuntarily,  there  was  barely 
a  scratch.  "  As  we  walked  back  from  the  station 
my  heart  felt  quite  dead  and  cold.  I  hated  the 
scratch  on  your  cheek,  the  shape  of  your  hat,  every- 
thing." He  turned  pale.  "  I  wondered  how  I  was 
going  to  bear  two  whole  days,  what  I  should  say  to 
you." 

"We  talked!" 

"  I  know,  but  it  was  outside  talk,  forced,  laboured. 
You  remember,  '  How  warm  the  weather  was  in 
London ' ;  and  that  the  train  was  not  too  full  for 
comfort.  You  had  papers  in  your  hand,  the 
Saturday  Review,  the  Spectator.  You  spoke  of  an 
article  by  Runciman  in  the  first." 


io8  TWILIGHT 

"  You  seemed  interested." 

"  I  was  thinking  how  we  were  going  to  get 
through  the  two  days.  What  I  had  ever  seen  in 
you,  why  I  thought  I  liked  you  so  much." 

He  was  quite  dumb  by  now,  the  sunken  eyes  were 
full  of  pain,  the  straight  austere  mouth  was  only 
a  line;  he  no  longer  touched  the  hem  of  her  dress. 

"  You  left  me  in  the  garden  of  the  hotel  when  you 
went  to  book  a  room,  to  leave  your  bag.  I  sat  on  a 
seat  in  the  garden  and  looked  at  the  sea,  the  blue 
wonder  of  the  sea,  the  jagged  coast-line,  and  one 
rock  that  stood  out,  then  hills  and  always  more  hills, 
the  sky  so  blue,  spring  in  the  air.  Gabriel  ..." 
she  leaned  forward,  touched  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulder.  A  deep  flush  came  over  his  face,  but 
he  did  not  move  nor  put  up  his  hand  to  take  hers. 
''  You  were  only  gone  ten  minutes.  I  could  not 
have  borne  for  you  to  have  been  away  longer. 
There  were  a  thousand  things  I  wanted  to  say  to 
you,  that  I  knew  I  could  say  to  no  one  but  you. 
About  the  spring  and  my  heart  hunger,  what  it 
meant." 

"  And  when  I  came  out  I  suppose  all  you  remem- 
bered was  that  I  had  cut  myself  shaving?" 

She  seemed  astonished  at  the  bitterness  of  his 
tone. 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No!    Not  angry.    How  could  I  be?  " 

"  When  you  came  out  and  I  felt  rather  than  saw 


TWILIGHT  109 

you  were  moving  toward  me  across  the  grass  I 
thought  of  nothing  but  that  you  were  coming;  that 
we  were  going  io  have  tea  together,  on  the  ricketty 
iron  table,  that  I  should  pour  it  out  for  you.  That 
after  that  we  should  walk  here  together,  and  then 
you  would  go  home  with  me,  dine  together  at 
Carbies,  talk  and  talk  and  talk.  ..." 

He  could  not  help  taking  her  hand  again,  because 
she  gave  it  to  him,  but  his  face  was  set  and  serious. 

"Tell  me,  is  it  the  same  with  you  as  it  is  with 
me  ?  Am  I  a  stranger  to  you  sometimes  ?  Different 
from  what  you  expect?  Do  I  disappoint  you,  and 
leave  you  cold,  almost  as  if  you  disliked  me?  Don't 
answer.  I  expect,  I  know  it  is  the  same  with  you. 
You  find  me  plain,  gone  off,  you  wonder  what  you 
ever  saw  in  me." 

He  answered  with  a  quiet  yet  passionate  sincerity : 

"  When  I  see  you  after  an  interval  my  heart 
rushes  out  to  you,  my  pulses  leap.  I  feel  myself 
growing  pale.  I  am  paralysed  and  devoid  of  words. 
Margaret!  My  very  soul  breathes  Margaret,  my 
wonderful  Margaret.  I  cannot  get  my  breath." 
Her  eyes  shone  and  exulted. 

"It  is  not  like  that  always?"  she  whispered, 
leaning  towards  him. 

"  It  is  like  that  always.  But  today  it  was  more 
than  that.  I  had  not  seen  you  for  a  week,  a  whole 
long  week.  Sometimes  in  that  week  I  had  not 
dared  look  forward." 


no  TWILIGHT 

"  And  then  you  saw  me."  She  was  hanging  upon 
his  words.  He  got  up  abruptly  and  walked  a  few 
paces  away  from  her,  to  the  edge  of  the  sea.  She 
smiled  quietly  to  herself  when  he  left  her  like  that. 
He  was  suffering,  he  could  not  bear  the  contrast 
between  what  she  had  thought  of  him  and  he  of  her. 

"  Gabriel !  "  she  called  him  back  presently,  called 
softly  and  he  came  swiftly. 

"  I  had  better  go  back  to  town  by  the  next  train. 
I  disappoint  you." 

"  Silly !  "  She  was  amazingly,  alluringly  smiling 
into  his  dour  eyes,  not  satisfied  until  he  smiled  too. 
"  It  is  my  sense  of  style.  I  am  like  grammar ;  all 
moods  and  tenses.  You  want  me  to  tell  you  every- 
thing, don't  you  ?  " 

"  Am  I  the  man  for  you  ?  that  is  what  I  want  you 
to  tell  me.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  that 
sense  of  strangeness — I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  Don't  you  vary  ?  wonder,  doubt  ?  " 

"  I  always  knew  from  the  first  afternoon  when 
you  were  shown  into  my  room  in  Grey  friars',  your 
black  fur  framing  your  exquisite  porcelain  face, 
your  eyes  like  wavering  stars,  that  you  were  the  only 
woman  in  the  world.  Since  then  the  conviction  of 
it  grows  deeper  and  deeper,  more  certain.  You  are 
never  out  of  my  mind.  I  know  I  am  not  good 
enough  for  you,  too  old  and  grave.  But  you  have 
let  me  hope.  Oh !  you  wonderful  child."  For  still 
she  was  smiling  at  him  in  that  dazzling  alluring 


TWILIGHT  in 

way.  He  was  at  her  feet  and  the  hem  of  her  dress 
again  against  his  lips.  "  Don't  you  understand, 
can't  I  make  you  understand  ?  I  adore  you,  I  wor- 
ship you.  I  want  nothing  from  you  except  that  you 
let  me  tell  you  so  sometimes." 

"  It  is  so  much  nicer  when  you  write  it,"  she 
murmured. 

"  Don't."    She  cajoled  him. 

"  I  can't  take  it  lightly,"  he  burst  out.  "  Pity  me, 
forgive  me,  but  don't  laugh  at  me." 

"  I  am  not  laughing." 

"  I  know.  You  are  an  angel  of  sweetness,  good- 
ness. Margaret,  let  me  love  you !  " 

I  was  back  again  in  bed,  very  drowsy  and  com- 
fortable, wondering  how  I  had  got  there,  what  had 
happened,  what  time  it  was.  I  took  a  drink  of 
lemonade  and  thought  what  a  bad  night  I  was 
having.  I  remembered  my  dream ;  it  had  been  very 
vivid,  and  I  was  sorry  for  Gabriel  Stanton  and  tried 
to  remember  what  had  become  of  him,  when  I  had 
heard  of  or  seen  him  last ;  it  must  have  been  a  long 
time  ago.  Margaret  was  a  minx.  If  ever  I  wrote 
about  them  it  would  be  to  tell  the  truth,  to  analyse 
and  expose  the  spirit  and  soul  of  a  woman  flirt.  And 
again  when  I  lay  down  I  thought  of  what  the  critics 
would  say  of  this  fine  and  intimate  study,  this 
human  document  that  I  was  to  give  the  world. 
Phrases  came  to  me,  vivid  lightning  touches  .  .  . 


ii2  TWILIGHT 

I  hoped  I  should  be  able  to  remember  them,  but 
hardly  doubted  it,  for  others  came,  even  better  than 
these,  and  then  in  consequence,  sleep.  .  .  . 

Benham  said  in  the  morning : 

"  Whatever  did  you  take  another  pill  for  ?  Was 
anything  the  matter  with  you?  You  could  have 
called  me  up." 

"  But  you  might  have  argued  with  me." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  good  a  nurse  is 
to  you  at  all !  " 

"  You  would  be  invaluable  if  you  would  only  get 
it  into  your  head  that  I  am  not  a  mental  case.  Don't 
you  realise  that  I  am  a  very  clever  woman,  quite  as 
clever  as  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  call  it  clever  to  retard  your  own 
recovery." 

"  Am  I  going  to  recover?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  Your  beloved  Dr.  Kennedy  says  you  are." 

"  By  the  way,  is  he  coming  to-day  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  many  days  he  misses." 

"  He  comes  to  protect  me  from  you,  to  see  I  have 
some  few  privileges  and  ameliorations  of  my  condi- 
tion, that  my  confinement  is  not  too  close,  my  gaoler 
too  vigilant." 

We  understood  each  other  better  now,  and  I  could 
chaff  her  without  provoking  anything  but  a  difficult 
smile.  I,  of  course,  was  a  bad  patient.  I  found  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  I  ought  not  to  try  and  over- 


TWILIGHT  113 

come  my  weakness  and  inertia,  that  it  was  my  duty 
to  leave  off  fighting  and  sink  into  invalidism  as  if 
it  were  a  feather  bed. 

That  afternoon  she  helped  me  to  the  writing-table 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  I  sat  there  trying  to  recap- 
ture the  conversation  I  had  heard.  But  although  I 
could  remember  every  word  I  found  it  hard  to  write. 
I  could  lie  back  in  the  chair  and  look  at  the  gorse, 
the  distant  hills,  the  sea,  the  dim  wide  horizon,  but 
to  lean  forward,  take  pen  in  hand,  dip  it  in  the  ink, 
write,  was  almost  beyond  that  still  slowly  ebbing 
strength.  I  whipped  myself  with  the  thought  of 
what  weak  women  had  done,  and  dying  men.  "  My 
head  is  bloody  but  unbowed  ..."  Mine  was 
bowed  then,  quickly  over  the  writing-table ;  tears  of 
self-pity  welled  hot,  but  I  would  not  let  them  fall. 
It  was  not  because  Death  was  coming  to  me.  I 
swear  that  then  nor  ever  have  I  feared  Death.  But 
I  was  leaving  so  much  undone.  I  had  a  place,  and 
it  was  to  know  me  no  more.  And  the  world  was  so 
lovely,  the  promise  of  spring  in  the  air.  When  I 
lifted  my  bowed  head  Peter  Kennedy  was  there, 
very  pitiful  as  I  could  see  by  his  eyes,  and  with  a 
new  gift  of  silence.  Silence  as  to  essentials,  at  least. 
He  did  not  ask  what  ailed  me,  but  spoke  of  a  break- 
down to  the  motor,  of  the  wonder  of  the  April 
weather.  I  soon  regained  my  self-possession. 

"  How  soon  after  Margaret  Capel  came  here  did 
you  make  her  acquaintance  ?  "  I  asked  him  sud- 


114  TWILIGHT 

denly,  and  a  propos  of  nothing  either  of  us  had 
said. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  week  or  two,  not  more.  I 
knew  the  house  had  been  taken,  but  not  by  whom. 
And  at  first  the  name  meant  nothing  to  me.  I  am 
not  a  reading  man ;  at  least  I  don't  read  novels." 

"  Don't  apologise.  I  have  heard  of  the  Sporting 
Times,  Bell's  Life" 

"  Go  on,  gibe  away,  I  like  it.  She  was  just  the 
same  only  kinder,  much  kinder." 

I  laughed. 

"  I  knew  she  would  be  kind,  and  soft,  and  wom- 
anly. Didn't  she  say  she  was  lonely?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  then  say  quickly :  '  But  of  course  you  are 
quite  right.  Reading  is  a  waste  of  time,  living 
everything,  and  you  are  doing  a  fine  work,  a  man's 
work  in  the  world.'  She  said  she  envied  you.  I 
can  hear  her  saying  it."  He  looked  ecstatic. 

"  So  can  I.     Ella  says  the  same  thing." 

"  Why  are  you  so  bitter  ?  " 

I  could  not  tell  him  it  was  because  I  had  heard 
other  women,  many  women,  who  were  all  things  to 
all  men,  and  that  I  despised,  or  perhaps  envied  them, 
lacking  their  gift  and  so  having  lived  lonely  save  for 
Ella  and  Ella's  love.  Until  now,  when  it  was  too 
late.  And  then  I  looked  at  him,  at  Dr.  Kennedy, 
and  laughed. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  ?    You  are  so  like  and  so 


TWILIGHT  115 

unlike  her.  She  would  laugh  for  nothing,  cry  for 
nothing  ..." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  her  from  the  beginning."  It 
was  an  excuse  to  rest  on  the  cushions  in  the  easy- 
chair,  to  cease  whipping  my  tired  conscience. 

' "  There  is  little  or  nothing  to  tell.  It  was  about 
a  week  after  she  came  here  we  had  the  first  call. 
Urgent,  the  message  said.  So  I  got  on  my  bicycle 
and  spun  away  up  here.  I  did  not  even  wait  to 
get  out  the  car." 

"  What  day  of  the  week  was  it  ?  "  I  asked,  inter- 
rupting him. 

"What  day  of  the  week?"  he  repeated  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes,  what  day?" 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  on  a  Monday. 
What's  the  point?  I  remember  because  it  happens 
to  have  been  my  Infirmary  day.  I  had  just  come 
home,  dog-tired,  but  of  course  when  the  call  came 
I  had  to  go.  I  actually  thought  what  a  bore  it  was 
as  I  pedalled  up.  It's  nearly  all  uphill  from  our  house 
to  Carbies.  The  maid  looked  frightened  when  she 
opened  the  door." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here.  Will  you 
please  come  into  the  drawing-room?  Mrs.  Capel, 
she  fainted  right  away.  Miss  Stevens  has  tried 
hartshorn  an'  burnt  feathers,  everything  we  could 
think  of." 

"  Everything  that  had  a  smell  ?  " 


n6  TWILIGHT 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  perceived  it  as  I  approached  the 
drawing-room — this  room.  She  was  on  the  sofa," 
he  looked  over  to  it,  "  very  pale  and  dishevelled,  only 
partly  conscious." 

"  Who  was  Miss  Stevens?  " 

"  Her  maid.  Quite  a  character.  Something  like 
your  nurse,  only  more  so." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"  I  felt  her  pulse,  her  heart,  thought  of  strych- 
nine." 

"  You  are  not  a  great  doctor,  are  you  ?  "  I  scoffed 
lightly. 

"  Oh !  I  know  my  work  all  right ;  it's  simple 
enough.  You  try  this  drug  or  the  other  ..." 

"  Or  none,  as  in  my  case." 

"  That's  right." 

"  And  then  if  the  patient  does  not  get  better  or 
her  relatives  get  restive,  you  call  in  some  one  else, 
who  makes  another  shot."  There  was  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  I  always  thought  he  knew  more  about 
medicine  than  he  pretended.  "  And  what  did  you 
do  for  Margaret  ?  "  I  went  on. 

"  Opened  the  window,  and  her  dress ;  waited. 
The  first  thing  she  said  was,  '  Has  he  gone  ?  '  I  did 
not  know  to  whom  she  referred,  but  the  maid  told 
me  primly :  '  Mrs.  Capel's  publisher  has  been  down 
for  the  week-end.  He  left  this  morning.  She  don't 
know  what  she's  saying.'  Margaret  opened  her 
eyes,  her  sweet  eyes,  dark-irised,  the  light  in  them 


TWILIGHT  117 

wavered  and  grew  strong.  She  seemed  to  recall 
herself  with  difficulty  and  slowly.  'Did  I  faint? 
I'm  all  right  now.  Is  that  you,  Stevens?  What 
happened  ? ' 

"  '  I  came  in  to  bring  your  afternoon  tea  and  you 
were  in  a  dead  faint,  at  the  writing-table,  all  in  a 
heap.  I  rang  for  cook  and  we  carried  you  to  the 
sofa,  and  tried  to  bring  you  round.  Then  cook  tele- 
phoned for  Dr.  Lansdowne.' 

"  '  Are  you  Dr.  Lansdowne  ?  ' 

"  *  He  was  out.  I'm  his  partner,  Dr.  Kennedy. 
How  are  you  feeling  ? '  I  asked  her. 

'  Better.  Stevens,  you  can  go  away.  Bring  me 
some  more  tea.  Dr.  Kennedy  will  have  a  cup  with 
me.'  She  struggled  into  a  sitting  position  and  I 
helped  her.  Then  she  told  me  she  had  always  been 
subject  to  these  attacks,  ever  since  she  was  a  child, 
that  she  was  to  have  been  a  pianist,  had  studied 
seriously.  But  the  doctors  forbade  her  practising. 
Now  she  wrote.  She  admitted  that  her  own  emo- 
tional scenes  overcame  her.  Then  we  talked  of  the 
emotions.  ..." 

Dr.  Kennedy  looked  at  me  as  if  enquiringly. 

"  Do  you  want  to  hear  any  more?  " 

"  You  saw  her  often  after  that?  " 

"  Nearly  every  day,  all  the  time  she  was  here." 

"  And  talked  about  the  emotions?  " 

"Sometimes.  What  are  you  implying?  What 
are  you  trying  to  get  at?  Whatever  it  is,  you  are 


n8  TWILIGHT 

wrong.     I  was  in  her  confidence,  she  liked  talking 
to  me.    I  did  her  good." 

"  With  drugs  or  dogma  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  With  sympathy.  She  had  suffered  terribly, 
more  than  any  woman  should  be  allowed  to  suffer. 
And  she  was  ultra-sensitive,  her  nerves  were  all 
exposed,  inflamed.  You  have  sometimes  that  elu- 
sive, strange  resemblance  to  her.  But  she  had 
neither  strength  nor  courage  and  as  for  hardness 
.  .  .  she  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word." 

"  You  are  wrong.  Last  night  I  heard  her  talk 
to  Gabriel  Stanton." 

"Did  you?"  His  eyes  lightened.  "Tell  me. 
But  he  was  not  the  man  for  her,  never  the  man  for 
her.  Not  sufficiently  flexible.  He  took  her  too 
seriously." 

"  Can  a  man  take  a  woman  too  seriously?  " 

"  An  emotional,  nervous,  delicate  woman.  Yes. 
You've  been  through  all  the  letters  ?  " 

"  No.    There  are  a  few  more." 

They  were  on  the  table,  and  I  put  my  hand  on 
them.  I  was  sure  that  no  one  but  I  must  see  them. 

"  The  first  two  or  three  times  that  Gabriel  Stanton 
came  down  he  stayed  at  '  The  King's  Arms.'  She 
was  always  ill  after  he  left,  always.  She  made  a 
brave  effort,  poor  girl.  Day  after  day  I  have  come 
in  and  seen  her  sitting  as  you  are,  paper  before  her, 
and  ink.  I  don't  think  anything  ever  came  of  it. 
She  would  play  too,  for  hours." 


TWILIGHT  119 

"  You  stayed  away  when  he  was  here,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"  No !  Not  always.  I  was  sent  for  once  or 
twice.  She  had  those  heart  attacks." 

"Hysteria?" 

"  Heart  attacks.  He  did  not  know  how  to  treat 
or  calm  her." 

"  Poor  Gabriel  Stanton !  " 

"Poor  Margaret  Capel!"  he  retorted.  "I 
wouldn't  try  to  write  the  story  if  I  were  you.  You 
misjudge  her,  I  am  sure  you  do.  She  was  delicate- 
minded." 

"  Why  did  she  have  him  down  here  at  all  ?  She 
knew  the  risk  she  ran.  Why  did  she  not  wait  until 
the  decree  was  made  absolute?"  For  by  now,  of 
course,  I  knew  how  the  trouble  came  about. 

"  She  was  in  love  with  him." 

"  She  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word. 
She  was  philandering  with  you  at  the  time."  He 
grew  red. 

"  She  was  not.    I  was  her  doctor." 

"  And  are  not  doctors  men  ?  " 

"Not  with  their  patients." 

I  looked  at  him  thoughtfully  and  remembered 
Ella.  He  answered  as  if  he  read  my  thoughts. 

'*  You  are  not  my  patient,  you  are  Lansdowne's." 
He  gave  a  short  uncertain  laugh  when  he  had  said 
that.  That  seemed  amusing  to  me,  for  I  did  not 
care  whether  he  was  a  man  or  not,  feeling  ill  and 


120  TWILIGHT 

superlatively  old  and  sexless,  also  that  he  lacked 
something,  had  played  this  game  with  Margaret,  the 
game  she  had  taught  him,  until  his  withers  were  all 
unwrung,  until  she  had  bereft  him  of  reason,  leav- 
ing him  empty,  as  it  were  hollow,  filled  up  with 
words,  meaningless  words  that  were  part  of  the 
fine  game,  of  which  he  had  forgotten  or  never 
known  the  rules. 

After  he  left  I  read  her  next  letter,  the  one  written 
after  Gabriel  Stanton  had  been  to  Pineland  for  the 
first  time,  and  she  had  told  him  how  she  felt  about 
him. 

Carbies,   Pineland. 

I  have  been  writing  to  you  and  tearing  up  the 
letters  ever  since  you  left.  I  look  back  and  cannot 
believe  you  were  here  only  two  days.  The  two  days 
passed  like  two  hours,  but  now  it  seems  as  if  we 
must  have  been  together  for  weeks.  You  told  me 
so  much  and  I  ...  I  exposed  myself  to  you  com- 
pletely. You  know  everything  about  me,  it  is  in- 
credible but  nevertheless  true  that  I  tried  all  I 
knew  to  show  you  the  real  woman  on  whom  you 
are  basing  such  high  hopes.  What  are  you  thinking 
of  me  now,  I  wonder.  That  I  am  a  little  mad, 
not  quite  human?  What  is  this  genius  that  sep- 
arates me  from  the  world,  from  all  my  kind?  My 
books,  my  little  plays,  my  piano-playing!  There 
is  a  little  of  it  in  all  of  them,  is  there  not,  my  friend, 
my  companion,  the  first  person  to  whom  I  have 
ever  spoken  so  frankly.  Is  it  not  true  that  I  have 
a  wider  vision,  intenser  emotions  than  other  wo- 
men? Love  me  therefore  better,  and  differently 


TWILIGHT  121 

than  any  man  has  ever  loved  a  woman.  You 
say  that  you  will,  you  do,  that  I  am  to  pour  myself 
out  on  you.  I  like  that  phrase  of  yours — you  need 
never  use  it  again,  you  have  already  used  it  twice. 

"  I  shall  remember  while  the  light  is  yet, 
And  when  the  darkness  comes  I  shall  not  forget." 

It  went  through  me,  there  is  nowhere  it  has  not 
permeated.  And  see,  I  obey  you.  I  no  longer  feel 
a  pariah  and  an  outcast,  with  all  the  world  pointing 
at  me.  The  degradation  of  my  marriage  is  only  a 
nightmare,  something,  as  you  say,  that  never  hap- 
pened. I  look  out  on  the  garden  and  the  sea  be- 
yond, on  the  jagged  coast-line  and  the  green  tree- 
clad  hills,  all  bathed  in  sunshine,  and  forget  that  I 
have  suffered.  I  am  glad  to  know  you  so  inti- 
mately that  I  can  picture  each  hour  what  you  are 
doing.  You  are  not  happy,  and  I  am  almost  glad. 
What  could  I  give  you  if  you  were  happy?  But  as 
it  is  when  you  are  bored  and  wearied,  with  your 
office  work,  depressed  in  your  uncongenial  home,  I 
can  send  you  my  thoughts  and  they  will  flow  in  upon 
you  like  fresh  water  to  a  stagnant  pool.  I  have  at 
times  so  great  a  sense  of  strength  and  power.  At 
others,  as  you  know,  I  am  faint  and  fearful.  No- 
body but  you  has  ever  understood  that  I  am  not 
inconsistent,  only  a  different  woman  at  different 
times.  I  know  I  see  things  that  are  hidden  from 
other  people,  not  mystic  things,  but  the  great  Scheme 
unfolded,  the  scheme  of  the  world,  why  some  suffer 
and  some  enjoy,  what  God  means  by  it  all.  In  my 
visions  it  is  blindingly  brilliant  and  clear,  and  I 
understand  God  as  no  human  being  has  ever  under- 
stood Him  before.  I  want  to  be  His  messenger, 


122  TWILIGHT 

to  show  the  interblending  marvel.  I  know  it  is  for 
that  I  am  here.  Then  I  write  a  short  story  that  says 
nothing  at  all,  or  I  sit  at  the  piano  and  try  to  ex- 
press, all  alone  by  myself,  that  for  which  I  cannot 
find  words.  Afterwards  I  go  to  bed  and  know  I 
am  a  fool,  and  lie  awake  all  night,  miserable  enough 
at  my  futility.  I  have  always  lived  like  this  save 
during  those  frenzied  months  when  I  thought  love 
was  the  expression  for  which  I  had  waited,  and  with 
my  eyes  on  the  stars,  blundered  into  a  morass.  Not- 
withstanding we  have  hardly  spoken  of  it,  you  know 
the  love  I  ask  from  you  has  nothing  in  common 
with  the  love  ordinary  men  and  women  have  for 
each  other,  nothing  at  all  in  common.  The  very 
thought  of  physical  love  makes  me  sick  and  ill. 
That  is  still  a  nightmare,  nothing  more  nor  less. 
I  want  my  thoughts  held,  not  my  hands.  How 
intimate  we  must  be  for  me  to  write  you  like  this, 
and  the  weeks  we  have  known  each  other  so  few. 

You  won't  read  this  in  the  office,  you  will 
take  it  home  with  you  to  the  bookish  and  precise 
flat  in  Hampstead,  and  hoard  it  up  until  the  little 
round-backed  sister  with  her  claim  and  her  queru- 
lousness  has  left  you  in  peace.  She  is  part  of  that 
great  scheme  of  things  which  evades  me  when  I  try 
to  write  it.  Why  should  you  sacrifice  your  free- 
dom to  make  a  home  for  her?  Poor  cripple,  with 
her  cramped  small  brain ;  your  companion  to  whom 
you  are  tied  like  a  sound  man  to  a  leper,  and  with 
whom  you  cannot  converse  and  yet  must  some- 
times talk.  You  cannot  read  or  write  very  well  in 
the  atmosphere  she  creates  for  you,  but  must 
listen  to  gossip  and  answer  fittingly,  wasting  the 
precious  hours.  Nevertheless  you  will  find  time 


TWILIGHT  123 

to  answer  this  letter.  I  shall  not  watch  for  the 
coming  of  the  post  and  be  disappointed.  She  does 
not  care  for  you  overmuch  I  fear,  this  poor  sister 
of  yours,  only  for  herself.  I  am  sorry  she  is 
hunchbacked  and  ailing.  But  I  am  sorrier  still  that 
she  is  your  sister  and  burdens  you.  Life  has  given 
you  so  little.  Your  dreary  orphaned  childhood  in 
your  uncle's  large  hospitable  family,  of  which  you 
were  always  the  one  apart,  you  and  that  same  suffer- 
ing sister ;  your  strenuous  schooldays.  You  say  you 
were  happy  at  Oxford,  but  for  the  cramping  cer- 
tainty that  there  was  no  choice  of  a  career;  only 
the  stool  at  Stanton's,  and  so  repayment  for  all  your 
uncle  had  done  for  you.  My  poor  Gabriel,  it  seems 
to  me  your  boyhood  and  your  manhood  have  been 
spent.  And  now  you  have  only  me.  Me!  with 
hands  without  gifts  and  arid  lips,  an  absorbing 
egotism,  and  only  my  passionate  desire  for  expres- 
sion. I  don't  want  to  live;  I  want  to  write,  and 
even  for  that  I  am  not  strong  enough!  My  mes- 
sage is  too  big  for  me.  Hold  me  and  enfold  me, 
I  want  to  rest  in  you ;  you  are  unlike  all  other  men 
because  you  want  to  give  and  give  and  give,  asking 
nothing.  And  therefore  you  are  my  mate,  because 
I  am  unlike  all  other  women,  being  a  genius.  You 
alone  of  all  men  or  women  I  have  ever  known  will 
not  doubt  that  I  have  a  message,  although  I  may 
never  prove  it.  You  don't  want  to  be  proud  of  me, 
only  to  rest  me. 

Which  reminds  me — that  book  on  Staffordshire 
Pottery  will  never  be  written.  How  will  you  ex- 
plain it  to  your  partners,  and  the  wasted  expense 
of  the  illustrations?  I  shall  send  you  a  business 
letter  withdrawing;  then  I  suppose  you  will  say 


124  TWILIGHT 

that  you  had  better  run  down  and  discuss  the  matter 
with  me.  But,  oh!  it's  so  wonderful  to  know  that 
you,  you  yourself  will  know  without  any  explaining 
that  I  cannot  write  about  pottery  just  now.  I  have 
written  a  few  verses.  I  will  send  them  to  you  when 
they  are  polished  and  the  rhythm  is  perfect.  There 
will  .be  little  else  left  by  'then ! 

Write  and  tell  me  that  one  day  you  will  come 
again  to  Pineland.  One  day,  but  not  yet.  I  could 
not  bear  it,  not  to  think  of  you  concretely  here  with 
me  again,  this  week  or  next.  I  want  you  as  a  light 
in  the  distance,  my  eyes  are  too  weak  to  see  you 
more  closely  ...  I  won't  even  erase  that,  although 
it  will  hurt  you.  Sometimes  I  feel  I  am  not  going 
to  bring  you  happiness,  only  drain  you  of  sympathy. 

MARGARET. 

Church  Row,  Hampstead. 

My   dear,   dear   love,   you   wonderful,   wonderful 
Margaret: — 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you,  I  wish  I  could  begin  to 
tell  you  all  you  mean  to  me,  what  our  two  days 
together  meant  to  me.  You  ask  me  what  I  am 
thinking  of  you.  If  only  I  could  let  you  know  that, 
you  would  know  everything.  For  your  sufferings 
I  love  you,  for  your  crucified  gift  and  agonies.  You 
say  I  am  to  love  you  better  and  differently  than  any 
man  has  ever  loved  woman.  My  angel  child,  I  do. 
Can't  you  feel  it?  Tell  me  you  do.  That  is  all  I 
want,  that  you  tell  me  you  do  know  how  I  worship 
you,  that  it  means  something  to  you,  helps  you  a 
little. 

What  am  I  to  answer  to  your  next  sentence? 
You  say  you  ask  of  me  a  love  that  has  nothing 


TWILIGHT  125 

in  common  with  the  love  ordinary  men  and  women 
have  for  each  other,  that  physical  love  makes  you 
sick  and  ill.  Beloved,  everything  shall  be  as  you 
wish  between  us.  I  would  not  so  much  as  kiss  the 
hem  of  your  dress  if  you  forbade  it  by  a  look,  nor 
your  delicate  white  hands.  I  love  your  hands.  You 
let  me  hold  them,  you  must  let  me  hold  them  some- 
times. Dear  generous  one,  I  will  never  trouble  you. 
I  am  for  you  to  use  as  you  will,  that  you  use 
me  at  all  is  gift  enough.  This  time  will  pass 
this  trying  dreadful  time.  Until  then,  and 
afterwards  if  you  wish  it,  I  will  be  only 
your  comrade — your  very  faithful  knight.  I  love 
your  delicacy  and  reserve,  all  you  withhold  from 
me.  I  yearn  to  be  your  lover,  your  husband;  all 
and  everything  to  you.  Don't  hate  and  despise  me. 
You  say  when  radiant  love  came  to  you,  your  eyes 
were  on  the  stars,  and  you  blundered  into  a  morass. 
But,  sweetheart,  darling,  if  I  had  been  your  lover — 
husband,  do  you  think  this  would  have  happened? 
Think,  think.  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  con- 
fuse any  love  with  mine.  I  want  to  hold  you  in 
my  arms,  teach  you.  I  can't  write  any  more,  not 
now.  Thank  you  for  your  letter,  for  my  sleepless 
nights,  for  my  dreams,  for  everything.  You  are 
my  whole  world. 

GABRIEL. 

Greyfriars'. 

I  fear  I  wrote  you  a  stupid  letter  last  night.  I 
had  had  a  long  evening  with  my  sister.  She  in- 
sisted on  reading  to  me  from  a  wonderful  book 
she  has  just  bought.  It  was  on  some  new  craze 
with  the  high-sounding  name  of  Christian  Science. 


126  TWILIGHT 

The  book  was  called  "  Science  and  Health."  More 
utter  piffle  and  balderdash  I  have  never  heard. 
There  were  whole  sentences  without  meaning,  and 
many  calling  themselves  sentences  were  without 
verbs.  I  swallowed  yawn  after  yawn.  Then  she 
left  off  reading  and  asked  my  opinion.  I  suggested 
the  stuff  might  have  emanated  from  Earlswood. 
She  made  me  a  dreadful  scene.  It  seemed  she  had 
already  consulted  a  prophetess  of  this  new  religion 
and  had  been  promised  she  should  be  made  whole 
if  only  she  had  sufficient  faith !  Now  I  was  trying 
to  "  shake  her  faith  and  so  retard  her  cure  " ;  she 
sobbed.  Poor  woman !  I  tried  reasoning  with  her, 
went  over  a  few  passages  and  asked  her  to  note  in- 
consistency after  inconsistency,  stupidity  after 
stupidity,  blasphemy  and  irrelevance.  She  cried 
more.  Then  my  own  unkindness  struck  me.  She 
too  had  had  a  vision,  seen  the  marvellous  sun  rise. 
To  be  made  whole !  She  who  had  been  thirty  years 
a  cripple  and  in  pain  always.  I  tried  to  withdraw 
all  I  had  said,  to  find  a  strange  and  mystic  sense 
and  meaning  in  the  stuff.  I  think  I  comforted  her 
a  little.  I  insisted  she  should  go  on  with  her  in- 
duction, or  initiation,  or  whatever  they  call  it. 
There  are  paid  healers ;  the  prophets  play  the  game 
for  cash.  I  gave  her  money.  I  could  not  bear  her 
thanks  or  to  remember  I  had  been  unkind,  I,  with 
my  own  overwhelming  happiness.  If  I  were  able 
I  would  make  happiness  for  all  the  world.  When 
at  last  I  was  alone  I  sat  a  long  time  with  your  letter 
in  my  hand,  your  dear,  dear  letter.  I  don't  know 
what  I  wrote;  dare  not  recall  my  words.  Forgive 
me,  whatever  it  was.  If  there  was  a  word  in  my 
letter  that  should  not  have  been  there  forgive  me. 


TWILIGHT  127 

Bear  with  me,  dear.     You  don't  know  what  you 
are  to  me,  I  am  bewildered  with  the  mystery. 

About  the  book  on  Staffordshire  Pottery.  Don't 
give  it  another  thought.  I  can  arrange  everything 
here  without  any  trouble.  You  need  not  write.  But 
if  you  do,  and  suggest,  as  you  say,  that  I  shall  come 
down  and  discuss  the  matter  with  you,  why  then, 
then — will  you  write?  I  want  to  come.  I  promise 
not  to  cut  myself  shaving  this  time.  Although  is 
it  not  natural  my  hand  should  have  been  unsteady? 
It  shakes  now.  I  must  come  and  discuss  the  pottery 
book  or  anything.  Let  me.  It  is  much  to  ask,  but 
I  won't  be  in  your  way.  I've  some  manuscripts  to 
go  through.  I'll  never  leave  the  hotel.  But  I  want 
to  be  in  the  same  place. 

For  ever  and  ever, 

YOUR  GABRIEL. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OF  course  she  let  him  come.  Not  only  that  week- 
end but  many  others,  until  the  early  spring  deepened 
into  the  late,  the  yellow  gorse  grew  more  golden, 
and  the  birds  sang  as  they  mated.  It  was  the  same 
time  of  year  with  me  now,  and  I  saw  Margaret 
Capel  and  Gabriel  Stanton  often  together  in  the 
house  or  garden,  lying  on  the  stones  by  the  sea, 
walking  toward  the  hills.  My  strength  was  always 
ebbing  and  I  was  glad  to  be  alone,  drowsily  listening 
to  or  dreaming  of  the  lovers,  drugging  myself  with 
codein,  seeing  visions.  I  fancy  Benham  began  to 
suspect  me,  counted  the  little  silver  pills  that  held 
my  ease  and  entertainment.  I  circumvented  her 
easily.  Copied  the  prescription  and  sent  it  to  my 
secretary  in  London  to  be  made  up,  replaced  each 
extra  one  I  took.  I  was  not  getting  better,  although 
I  wrote  Ella  in  every  letter  of  returning  strength, 
and  told  her  that  I  was  again  at  work.  My  con- 
science had  loosened  a  little,  and  I  almost  believed 
it  to  be  true.  Anyway  I  had  the  letters,  and  knew 
that  when  the  time  came  it  would  be  easy  to 
transcribe  them.  Meanwhile  I  told  myself  disin- 
genuously that  I  hoped  to  become  better  acquainted 
with  my  hero  and  heroine.  I  was  wooing  their 

128 


TWILIGHT  129 

confidence,  learning  their  hearts.  Now  Gabriel's  was 
clear,  but  Margaret's  less  distinct.  I  saw  them 
sometimes  as  in  a  magic-lantern  show,  when  the 
house  was  quiet,  and  I  in  the  darkness  of  my  bed- 
room. On  the  circle  in  the  white  sheet  that  hung 
then  against  the  wall,  I  saw  them  walk  and  talk,  he 
pleading,  she  coquetting.  Whilst  the  slide  was  being 
changed  Peter  Kennedy  acted  as  spokesman: 

"  Week-end  after  week-end  Gabriel  Stanton  came 
down,  and  all  the  hours  of  the  day  they  passed  to- 
gether. Four  months  of  the  waiting  time  had  gone 
by  and  her  freedom  was  in  sight.  Her  nerves  were 
taut  and  fretted.  She  often  had  fainting  attacks. 
He  never  questioned  me  about  her  but  once.  I  told 
him  the  truth,  that  she  had  suffered,  was  suffering 
more  than  any  woman  can  endure,  any  young  and 
delicate  woman.  And  her  love  for  him  grew  ..." 

I  did  not  want  to  stop  the  show,  the  moving 
figures  and  changing  slides,  yet  I  called  out  from  my 
swaying  bed : 

"  No,  no,  she  never  loved  him."  And  Peter 
Kennedy  turned  his  eyes  upon  me,  his  surprised  and 
questioning  eyes. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  Do  you  know  a  better 
way  of  loving  ?  " 

"  Yes,  many  better  ways." 

"  You  have  loved,  then  ?  " 

"  Read  my  books." 

"The  love-making  in  your  novels?     Is  that  all 


130  TWILIGHT 

you  know?"  A  coal  fell  from  the  fire;  I  frowned 
and  said  something  sharply.  He  did  not  go  on,  and 
I  may  have  slept  a  little.  When  I  looked  up  again 
there  was  no  more  sheet  nor  Peter.  Instead 
Margaret  herself  sat  in  the  easy-chair  and  asked 
me  how  I  was  getting  on  with  her  story. 

"  Not  very  well.  I  don't  understand  why  you 
took  pleasure  in  making  Gabriel  miserable  by  your 
scenes  and  vapours.  That  first  day  now.  What  did 
you  mean  by  telling  him  of  your  reaction  on  seeing 
him,  that  it  might  have  been  because  he  had  cut 
himself  shaving,  or  because  of  the  shape  of  his 
hat ;  the  hang  of  his  coat  disappointed  you.  Either 
you  loved  the  man  or  you  did  not.  Why  hurt  his 
feelings,  deliberately,  unnecessarily?  Why  did  you 
tell  him  not  to  come  and  then  telegraph  him  ?  Why 
should  I  write  your  story?  I  don't  know  the  end  of 
it,  but  already  I  am  out  of  sympathy  with  you." 

"  You  were  that  from  the  first,"  she  answered 
unhappily.  "  Don't  think  I  am  ignorant  of  that.  In 
a  way,  I  suppose  you  are  still  jealous  of  me." 

"  I !  jealous !    And  of  you  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  pretend  you  did  not  know  my 
books,  and  send  for  them  to  the  London  Library? 
You  knew  them  well  enough  and  resented  my  repu- 
tation. The  Spectator,  the  Saturday  Review,  the 
Quarterly;  you  were  dismissed  in  a  paragraph  where 
I  had  a  column  and  a  turn." 

"  At  least  you  never  sold  as  well  as  I  did." 


TWILIGHT  131 

"  That  is  where  the  trouble  comes  in,  as  you 
would  say — although  you  are  a  little  better  in  that 
way  than  you  used  to  be.  You  wanted  to  '  serve 
God  and  Mammon,'  to  be  applauded  in  the  literary 
reviews  whilst  working  up  sentimental  situations 
with  which  to  draw  tears  from  shopgirls  ..." 

"  I  am  conscious  of  being  unfairly  treated  by  the 
so-called  literary  papers,"  I  argued.  "  I  write  of 
human  beings,  men  and  women;  loving,  suffering, 
living.  You  wrote  of  abstractions,  making  phrases. 
The  sentences  of  one  of  your  characters  could  have 
been  put  in  the  mouths  of  any  of  the  others.  Life, 
it  was  of  life  I  wrote.  Now  that  I  am  dying  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  not  dying,  only  drugged.  And  you  are 
jealous  again  all  the  time.  Jealous  of  Gabriel 
Stanton,  who  despised  your  work  and  could  not 
recall  your  personality,  however  often  he  met  you. 
Jealous  of  the  literary  critics  who  ignored  you  and 
praised  me.  And  jealous  of  Peter,  Peter  Kennedy, 
who  from  the  first  would  have  laid  down  his  great 
awkward  body  for  me  to  tread  upon." 

I  half  woke  up,  raised  myself  on  my  arm,  and 
drank  a  little  water,  looked  over  to  where  Margaret 
sat,  but  she  was  no  longer  there.  I  did  not  want  to 
go  to  sleep  again,  and  lay  on  my  back  thinking  of 
what  had  been  told  me.  "  Jealous!  "  Why  should 
I  be  jealous  of  Margaret  Capel's  dead  fame,  of  her 
dying  memory?  But  perhaps  it  was  true.  I  had  a 


132  TWILIGHT 

large  public,  made  a  large  income,  but  had  no  recog- 
nition, no  real  reputation,  was  never  in  the  "Literary 
Review  of  the  Year,"  was  not  jeered  at  as  other 
popular  writers,  but  only  ignored.  Well,  I  did  not 
overrate  my  work.  I  never  succeeded  in  pleasing 
myself.  I  began  every  book  with  unextinguishable 
hope,  and  every  one  fell  short  of  my  expectations. 
People  wrote  to  me  and  told  me  I  had  made  them 
laugh  or  cry,  helped  them  through  convalescence, 
cheered  their  toilsome  day. 

"  I  love  your  '  Flash  of  the  Footlights.'  " 
To  repletion  I  had  had  such  letters,  requests  for 
autographs,  praise,  and  always :  "  I  love  your  'Flash 
of  the  Footlights.' '  Fifty-eight  thousand  copies 
had  been  sold  in  the  six-shilling  edition.  I  wonder 
what  were  the  figures  of  Margaret  Capel's  biggest 
seller.  Under  four  thousand  I  knew.  Little  Billie 
Black  told  me,  cherubic  Billie,  the  publisher,  with 
his  girlish  complexion  and  his  bald  head,  who  knew 
everybody  and  everything  and  told  us  even  more. 

I  was  getting  drowsy  again,  figures,  confused  and 
confusing,  passing  over  the  surface  of  my  mind. 
Billie  Black  and  Sir  George  Stanton,  Gabriel,  then 
Ella,  a  dim  glance  of  my  long-lost  husband,  Dennis, 
a  smiling  flash  in  the  foreground;  my  eyes  were 
hot  with  tears  because  of  this  short  glad  sight  of 
him.  Then  Peter  Kennedy  again;  awkward  in  his 
tweed  cutaway  morning  coat.  What  did  she  mean 
by  saying  I  was  jealous  of  Peter  Kennedy  ?  I  smiled 


TWILIGHT  133 

in  my  deepening  somnolence.  Then  there  was  an 
organ  and  children  dancing,  a  monkey,  a  policeman, 
and  the  end  of  a  string  of  absurdities  in  a  long 
narrow  vista.  Sleep  and  unconsciousness  at  the 
end. 

I  observed  Dr.  Kennedy  with  more  interest  the 
next  few  times  he  came  to  see  me.  A  personable 
man  without  self -consciousness,  some  few  years 
younger  than  myself,  the  light  in  his  eyes  was 
strange  and  fitful,  and  he  talked  abruptly.  He  was 
not  well-read,  ignorant  of  many  things  familiar  to 
me,  yet  there  was  nothing  of  the  village  idiot  about 
him  such  as  I  have  found  in  many  country  apothe- 
caries. He  looked  at  me  too  long  and  too  often,  but 
at  these  times  I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  Margaret 
Capel,  comparing  me  with  her.  And  I  did  not  resent 
it,  she  was  at  least  fourteen  years  younger  than  I, 
and  I  never  had  any  pretensions  to  beauty.  Dr. 
Kennedy  had  good  hands,  long-fingered,  muscular; 
dark  hair  interspersed  with  grey  covered  his  big 
head. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  What  sort  of  doctor  you  are !  "  I  answered  with 
a  fair  amount  of  candour.  "  Here  have  I  been  with- 
out any  one  else  for  three  or  is  it  five  weeks  ?  You 
don't  write  me  prescriptions,  nor  tell  me  how  I  shall 
live,  what  to  eat,  drink,  or  avoid.  You  call  con- 
stantly." 

"  Not   as  often   as   I   should   like,"   he  put   in 


134  TWILIGHT 

promptly.  Then  he  smiled  at  me.  "  You  don't  mind 
my  coming?  " 

"  Have  you  found  out  what  is  the  matter  with 
me?" 

"  I  know  what  is  the  matter  with  you ! " 

"  Do  you  know  I  get  weaker  instead  of 
stronger  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  would." 

"  Tell  me  the  truth.    Is  there  no  hope  for  me  ?  " 

"  Patients  ask  so  often  for  the  truth.  But  they 
never  want  it." 

"  I  am  not  like  other  patients.  Haven't  I  got 
a  dog's  chance  ?  "  He  shook  his  head. 

"How  long?" 

"  Months.  Very  likely  years.  No  one  can  tell. 
You  are  full  of  vitality.  If  you  live  in  the  right 
way  ..." 

"Like  this?" 

"  More  or  less." 

"  And  nothing  more  can  be  done  for  me?  " 

"  Rest,  open  air,  occupation  for  the  mind."  I 
thought  over  what  he  had  just  told  me.  I  had  known 
or  guessed  it  before,  but  put  into  words  it  seemed 
different,  more  definite.  "  Not  a  dog's  chance." 

"  You  think  Margaret  Capel  and  Gabriel  Stanton 
will  do  me  good?  They  are  part  of  your  treat- 
ment ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  They  and  I,"  he  said.  I  was  silent  after  that, 
silent  for  quite  a  long  time.  He  was  sitting  beside 


TWILIGHT  135 

me  and  put  his  shapely  hand  on  mine.  I  did  not 
withdraw  it,  my  thoughts  were  fully  occupied. 
"  You  know  I  shall  do  everything  I  can  for  you ; 
you  are  a  reincarnation."  He  spoke  with  some 
emotion.  "  Some  day  I  shall  want  to  ask  you  some- 
thing ;  you  will  know  more  about  me  soon.  You  are 
in  touch  with  her." 

"Do  you  really  believe  it?"  I  asked  him.  We 
were  in  the  upstairs  room.  Today  I  had  not  adven- 
tured the  stairs. 

"  May  I  play  ?  "  he  asked.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
he  had  played  to  me.  I  rather  think  he  played  well, 
but  I  know  nothing  of  music.  If  he  were  talking  to 
me  through  the  keys  he  was  talking  to  a  deaf  mute. 
I  lay  on  the  sofa  and  thought  how  tired  I  was,  may 
even  have  slept.  I  was  taking  six  grains  of  codein 
in  the  twenty-four  hours  when  the  prescription  said 
two,  and  often  fell  asleep  in  the  daytime  without 
preparation  or  expectation. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  would  do  anything  on  earth 
for  you,"  he  said,  turning  round  abruptly  on  the 
piano  stool.  "  If  you  want  to  know."  I  was  wide- 
awake now  and  surprised,  for  I  had  forgotten  of 
what  we  had  talked  before  I  went  off.  "  It  is 
because  you  are  so  brave  and  uncomplaining." 

"  It  isn't  true.  Ask  Ella.  She  has  had  an 
awful  time  with  me,  grumbling  and  ungrateful." 

"  Your  sister  adores  you,  thinks  there  is  no  one 
like  you." 


136  TWILIGHT 

"  That  is  merely  her  idiosyncrasy." 

"  Well !  there  is  another  reason.  You  asked  for 
it  and  you  are  going  to  be  told.  The  love  of  my 
life  was  Margaret  Capel."  He  stared  at  me  when 
he  said  it.  "  You  remind  me  of  her  all  the  time." 
I  shut  my  eyes.  When  I  opened  them  again  his 
back  was  all  I  saw  and  he  was  again  playing  softly ; 
talking  at  the  same  time.  "  When  I  came  here,  the 
first  time,  the  first  day,  and  saw  you  sitting  in  her 
chair,  at  her  table,  in  her  attitude,  as  I  said,  it  was  a 
reincarnation."  He  got  up  from  the  music  stool  and 
came  over  to  me.  He  said,  without  preliminary  or 
excuse,  "  You  are  taking  opium  in  some  form  or 
other." 

"  I  am  taking  my  medicine." 

"  I  am  not  blaming  you.  You've  read  De 
Quincey,  haven't  you  ?  You  know  his  theory  ?  " 

"  Some  of  it." 

"  Never  mind ;  perhaps  you've  missed  it,  better  if 
you  have.  In  those  days  it  was  often  thought  that 
opium  cured  consumption." 

"  Then  it  is  consumption  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  we  call  it  ?  Pleurisy, 
as  you  have  had  it,  generally  means  tubercle.  But 
you  will  hang  on  a  long  time.  The  life  of  Margaret 
Capel  must  be  written  and  by  you.  She  always 
wanted  it  written.  From  what  you  tell  me  she  still 
wants  it.  I  poured  my  life  at  her  feet  those  few 
months  she  was  here,  but  she  never  gave  me  a 


TWILIGHT  137 

thought,  not  until  the  end.  Then,  then  at  the  last, 
I  held  her  eyes,  her  thoughts,  her  bewildered  ques- 
tioning eyes.  Bewildered  or  grateful?  Shall  I  ever 
know  ?  Will  you  tell  me,  I  wonder,  hear  it  from  her, 
reassure  me  .  .  ."  He  stopped.  "I  suppose  you 
think  I  am  mad?  " 

"  I  have  never  thought  you  quite  sane.  But,"  I 
added  consolingly,  "  that  is  better  than  being  merely 
stupid,  like  most  doctors.  So  you  regard  me,"  I 
could  not  help  my  tone  being  bitter,  "  as  a  clairvoy- 
ante,  expectantly  ..." 

"  Does  any  man  ever  care  for  a  woman  except 
expectantly,  or  retrospectively  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  He  sat  down  by  my 
side. 

"  No  one  should  know  better.  Tell  me  more 
about  yourself,  I  have  only  heard  from  Mrs.  Love- 
grove." 

"  She  told  you,  I  suppose,  that  I  had  a  great 
and  growing  reputation,  had  faithful  lovers  sighing 
for  me,  that  I  was  thirty-eight  ..." 

"  She  told  me  a  great  deal  more  than  that." 

"  I  have  no  doubt.  Well !  in  the  first  place  I  am 
not  thirty-eight,  but  forty-two.  My  books  sell,  but 
the  literary  papers  ignore  them.  I  make  enough  for 
myself  and  Dennis." 

"  Denis  ?  "    His  tone  was  surprised. 

"  Ella  never  mentioned  Dennis  to  you  ?  " 

"  No." 


138  TWILIGHT 

I  did  not  want  to  talk  about  Dennis.  Since  he  had 
left  me  I  never  wanted  to  talk  of  him.  His  long 
absence  had  meant  pain  from  the  first,  then  agony. 
Afterwards  the  agony  became  physical,  and  they 
called  it  neuritis.  Now  it  has  pierced  some  vital 
part  and  I  don't  even  know  what  they  call  it.  De- 
cline, consumption,  tuberculosis?  What  does  it 
matter?  In  the  two  years  he  had  been  away  my 
heart  had  bled  to  death.  That  was  the  truth  and  the 
whole  truth.  No  one  knew  my  trouble  and  I  had 
spoken  of  it  to  nobody  save  once,  in  early  days,  to 
Ella.  Ella  indignantly  had  said  the  boy  was  selfish 
to  leave  me,  and  so  closed  my  confidence.  It  is 
natural  our  children  should  wish  to  leave  us,  they 
make  their  trial  flights,  like  the  birds,  joyously. 
My  son  wanted  to  see  the  world,  escape  from  thral- 
dom, try  his  wings.  But  I  had  only  this  one.  And 
it  seemed  to  me  from  his  letters  that  he  was  never 
out  of  danger,  now  with  malaria,  and  in  Australia 
with  smallpox.  The  last  time  I  heard  he  had  been 
caught  in  a  typhoon.  After  that  my  health  declined 
rapidly.  But  it  was  not  his  fault. 

"And  Dennis?" 

"  Since  you  know  so  much  you  can  hear  the  rest. 
I  married  at  eighteen.  I  forget  what  my  husband 
was  like.  I've  no  recollection  of  his  ever  having 
interested  me  particularly.  Married  life  itself  I 
abhorred,  I  abhor.  But  it  gave  me  Dennis.  My 
husband  died  when  I  was  two-and-twenty.  Ever 


TWILIGHT  139 

since  Ella  has  been  trying  to  remarry  me.  But  when 

one  writes,  and  has  a  son "  I  could  talk  no 

more. 

"  You  are  tired  now." 

"  I  am  always  tired.  Why  do  you  say  years  ? 
You  mean  months,  surely?" 

"  You  will  write  one  more  book." 

"  Still  harping  on  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Let  me  carry  you  into  your  room ;  I  have  so 
often  carried  her." 

"  Physically  at  least  I  am  a  bigger  woman  than 
she  was." 

"  A  little  heavier,  not  much." 

"  Well,  give  me  your  arm,  help  me.  I  don't  need 
to  be  carried."  I  leaned  on  his  arm.  "  We  will 
talk  more  about  your  Margaret  another  day.  I  dare- 
say I  shall  write  her  story.  Not  using  all  the 
letters,  people  are  bored  with  letters.  I  am  myself. 
And  I  am  not  sure  about  the  copyright  acts !  " 

"  You  will  give  them  back  to  me  when  you  have 
done  with  them  ?  " 

"Why  not?" 

Benham  bullied  him  for  having  let  me  sit  up  so 
late.  My  illness  was  deepening  upon  me  so  quietly, 
so  imperceptibly  that  I  had  forgotten  I  once  resented 
her  overbearing  ways.  Now  I  depended  on  her  for 
many  things.  Suzanne  had  gone,  finding  the  house 
too  triste,  and  seeing  no  possibility  of  further  emolu- 
ment from  my  neglected  wardrobe.  Benham  did 


140  TWILIGHT 

everything  for  me;  yawningly  at  night,  but  will- 
ingly in  the  day. 

I  was  desperately  homesick  for  Ella  this  evening. 
I  wondered  what  she  would  say  when  she  knew  what 
Dr.  Kennedy  had  told  me.  I  cried  again  a  little 
because  he  said  I  had  not  a  dog's  chance,  but  was 
quickly  ashamed.  Why  should  I  cry?  I  was  so 
hopelessly  tired.  The  restfulness  of  Death  began  to 
appeal  to  me.  Not  to  have  to  get  up  and  go  to  bed, 
dress  and  undress  daily,  drag  myself  from  room  to 
room.  I  had  not  done  all  my  work,  but  like  an 
idle  child  I  wanted  to  be  excused  from  doing  any 
more.  I  was  in  bed  and  my  mind  wandered  a  little. 
Why  was  not  Ella  here  ?  It  seemed  cruel  she  should 
have  left  me  at  such  a  time.  But  of  course  she  did 
not  know  that  I  was  going  to  die.  Well !  I  would 
tell  her,  then  she  would  come,  would  stay  with  me 
to  the  end.  I  forgot  Margaret  and  Gabriel  Stanton, 
two  ghosts  who  walked  at  night.  No  extra  codein 
for  me  any  more.  I  no  longer  wanted  to  dream, 
only  to  face  what  was  before  me  with  courage.  My 
writing-block  was  by  my  side  and  pencils,  one  of 
Ella's  last  gifts,  and  I  drew  them  toward  me.  I  had 
to  break  to  her  that  if  she  would  be  lonely  in  the 
world  without  me,  then  it  was  time  for  her  to  pre- 
pare for  loneliness.  I  wanted  to  break  it  to  her 
gently,  but  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  think,  with 
pencil  in  my  hand  and  writing-block  before  me,  of 
any  other  way  than  that  of  the  man  who,  bidden  to 


TWILIGHT  141 

break  gently  to  a  woman  that  her  husband  was  dead, 
had  called  up  to  the  window  from  the  garden: 
"  Good-morning,  Widow  Brown."  So  I  started  my 
farewell  letter  to  Ella : 

"  Good-morning,  Widow  Lovegrove." 

I  never  got  any  further.  The  haemorrhage  broke 
out  again  and  I  rang  for  Benham.  She  came  yawn- 
ing, buttoning  up  her  dressing-gown,  pushing  back 
her  undressed  hair,  but  when  she  saw  what  was 
happening  her  whole  note  changed.  This  time  I 
was  neither  alarmed  nor  confused,  even  watching 
her  with  interest.  She  rang  for  more  help,  got  ice, 
gave  rapid  instructions  about  telephoning  for  a 
doctor. 

"  Will  you  wait  for  an  injection  until  he  comes, 
or  would  you  like  me  to  give  it  to  you?  " 

"  You." 

"  Very  well,  lie  quite  quiet,  I  shan't  be  a  minute." 

I  lay  as  quietly  as  circumstances  would  allow 
whilst  she  brewed  her  witches'  broth. 

"  What  dreams  may  come." 

"  Hush,  do  keep  quiet." 

"  Mind  you  give  me  enough." 

"  I  shall  give  you  the  same  dose  he  does,  a  quarter 
of  a  grain." 

"  It  won't  stop  it  this  time." 

"Oh,  yes!  it  will." 

She  gave  the  injection  as  well,  or  better  than  Dr. 
Kennedy.  I  hardly  felt  the  prick,  and  when  she 


142  TWILIGHT 

rubbed  the  place,  so  cleverly  and  gently,  she  almost 
made  a  suffragist  of  me.  Women  who  did  things 
so  well  deserved  the  vote. 

"  Do  you  want  the  vote  ?  "  I  asked  her  feebly. 

"  I  want  you  to  lie  quite  still,"  was  her  inappro- 
priate answer.  I  seemed  to  be  wasting  words.  The 
room  was  slowly  filling  with  the  scent  of  flowers. 
When  I  shut  my  eyes  I  saw  growing  pots  of 
hyacinth,  then  lilies,  floating  in  deep  glass  bowls, 
afterwards  Suzanne  came  in,  and  began  folding  up 
my  clothes,  in  her  fat  lethargic  way. 

"  I  thought  Suzanne  went  away." 

"  So  she  did." 

"  Who  is  in  the  room,  then  ?  " 

"  No  one.     Only  you  and  I." 

"And  Dr.  Kennedy?" 

"  No." 

"  You  have  sent  for  him  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  care  for  me  to  give  you 
a  morphia  injection." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  give  it  better  than  he  does.  I 
want  to  see  him  when  he  comes." 

"  You  may  be  asleep." 

"  No !  I  shan't.  Morphia  keeps  me  awake,  com- 
fortably awake.  De  Quincey  used  to  go  to  the 
opera  when  he  was  full  up  with  it." 

Peter  Kennedy  came  in,  and  I  followed  the  line 
of  my  own  thoughts.  I  was  feeling  drowsy. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  play  for  me,"  I  said,  a 


TWILIGHT  143 

little  pettishly  perhaps.  "  I  should  never  have  gone 
to  the  opera." 

"  All  right,  I  won't."  He  asked  nurse  in  a 
low  voice,  "  How  much  did  you  give  her?  " 

"  A  quarter  of  a.grain,  the  same  as  before."  The 
bleeding  had  not  left  off.  Benham  straightened 
me  amongst  the  pillows  and  fed  me  with  ice. 

"  I  shall  give  her  another  quarter,"  he  said 
abruptly  after  watching  for  a  few  minutes.  I  smiled 
gratefully  at  him.  Benham  made  no  comment,  but 
got  more  hot  water.  He  made  the  injection  care- 
fully enough,  but  I  preferred  nurse's  manipulation. 

"  For  Margaret  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Partly,"  he  answered.  "  You  will  dream  to- 
night." 

"  I  shall  die  tonight.  I  want  to  die  tonight.  Give 
me  something  to  hurry  things,  be  kind.  I  don't 
mind  dying,  but  all  this !  " 

"  Don't.  I  can't.  Not  again.  For  God's  sake 
don't  ask  me !  "  There  was  more  than  sympathy  in 
his  voice.  There  was  agitation,  even  tears.  "  You 
will  get  better  from  this." 

"  And  then  worse  again,  always  worse.  I  want 
it  ended.  Give  me  something." 

"  Oh !  God !    I  can't  bear  this.    Margaret !  " 

"  Don't  call  me  Margaret.  My  name  is  Jane. 
What  is  that  stuff  that  criminals  take  in  the  dock? 
Italian  poisoners  keep  it  in  a  ring.  I  see  one  now, 
with  pointed  beard,  melancholy  eyes,  a  great  ruby 


144  TWILIGHT 

in  the  ring.  Is  anything  the  matter  with  my  eyes? 
I  can't  see." 

"  Shut  them.  Be  perfectly  quiet.  The  Italian 
poisoner  will  pass." 

"  You  will  give  me  something?  " 

"  Not  this  time." 

I  must  have  slept.  When  I  woke  he  was  still 
there.  I  was  very  comfortable  and  pleased  to  see 
him.  "  Why  am  I  not  asleep?  " 

"  You  are,  but  you  don't  know  it." 

"You  won't  tell  Ella?" 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it." 

"  I've  written  to  her.  See  it  goes."  I  heard 
afterwards  he  searched  for  a  letter,  but  could  only 
find  four  words  "  Good-morning,  Widow  Love- 
grove  ..."  which  held  no  meaning  for  him. 

"  Don't  let  me  wake  again.    I  want  to  go." 

"Not  yet,  not  yet    ..." 

There  followed  another  week  of  morphia  dreams 
and  complete  content.  I  was  roused  with  difficulty, 
and  reluctantly,  to  drink  milk  from  a  feeding-cup, 
to  have  my  temperature  taken,  my  hands  and  face 
washed,  my  sheets  changed.  There  was  neither 
morning  nor  evening,  only  these  disturbances  and 
Ella's  eyes  and  voice  in  the  clouded  distance,  vague 
yet  comforting. 

"  You  will  soon  be  better,  your  temperature  is 
going  down.  Don't  speak.  Only  nod  your  head. 
Shall  I  cable  for  Dennis?" 


TWILIGHT  145 

I  shook  it,  went  on  slowly  shaking  it,  I  liked  the 
motion,  turning  from  side  to  side  on  the  pillow, 
continuing  it.  Ella,  frightened,  begged  me  to  leave 
off,  summoned  nurse,  who  took  my  cheeks  gently 
between  her  hands.  That  did  not  stop  it,  at  least 
I  recollect  being  angry  at  the  slight  compulsion  and 
making  up  my  mind,  my  poor  lost  feeble  mind 
that  I  should  do  what  I  liked,  that  I  would  never 
leave  off  moving  my  head  from  side  to  side. 

That  night  I  dreamed  of  water,  great  masses  of 
black  water,  heaving;  too  deep  for  sound  or  foam. 
Upon  them  I  was  borne  backwards  and  forwards 
until  I  turned  giddy  and  sick,  very  cold.  The  Gates 
of  Silence  were  beyond,  but  I  was  too  weak  to  get 
there,  the  bar  was  between  us.  I  saw  the  Gates,  but 
could  not  reach  them.  The  waters  were  cold  and 
ever  rising.  Sometimes,  submerged,  my  lips  tasted 
their  dank  saltness  and  I  knew  that  my  strength  was 
all  spent.  Soon  I  should  sink  deeper.  I  wished  it 
was  over. 

Then  One  came,  when  I  was  past  help,  or  hope, 
drowning  in  the  dark  waters,  and  said : 

"  Now  I  will  take  you  with  me."  We  were  going 
rapidly  through  air  currents,  soft  warm  air-currents 
and  amazing  space,  a  swift  journey,  over  plains  and 
mountains.  At  last  to  the  North,  and  there  I  saw 
snow-mountains  and  at  the  foot  the  cold  sea,  frozen 
and  blue,  heaving  slowly.  Swimming  in  that  slow 
frozen  sea,  I  saw  a  seal,  brown  and  beautiful,  swim- 


146  TWILIGHT 

ming  calmly,  with  happy  handsome  eyes.  They 
met  mine.  One  who  was  beside  me  said : 

"That  is  your  sister  Julia.  See  how  happy  she 
looks,  and  content  ..." 

Then  everything  was  gone  and  I  woke  up  in  my 
quiet  bedroom,  the  fire  burning  low  and  Ella  in  the 
chair  by  my  side. 

"  Do  you  want  anything?  "  She  leaned  over  me 
for  the  answer. 

"  I  have  just  seen  Julia." 

She  hushed  me,  tears  were  in  her  reddened  eyes. 
Our  sister  Julia  had  been  dead  two  years,  to  our 
unextinguishable  sorrow. 

"  Don't  cry,  she  is  very  happy." 

I  told  her  my  dream.  She  said  it  was  a  beautiful 
dream,  and  I  was  to  try  and  sleep  again. 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  up  ?  "  I  asked  her. 

"  It  is  not  late,"  was  her  evasive  reply. 

Many  nights  after  that  I  saw  her  sitting  there,  I 
forgot  even  to  ask  her  why,  I  was  too  far  gone,  or 
perhaps  only  selfish.  I  did  not  know  for  a  long  time 
whether  it  was  night  or  day.  I  always  asked  the 
time  when  I  woke,  but  forgot  or  did  not  hear  the 
answer,  drank  obediently  through  the  feeding-cup, 
— the  feeding-cup  was  always  there;  enormously 
large,  unnaturally  white,  holding  little  or  nothing, 
unsatisfactory.  Once  I  remember  I  decided  upon 
remaining  awake  to  tell  poor  Ella  how  much  better 
I  felt. 


TWILIGHT  147 

I  told  it  to  Margaret  instead,  and  she  had  no 
interest  in  the  news,  none  at  all. 

"  I  knew  you  were  not  going  to  die  yet.  Not 
until  you  had  written  my  story." 

"  It  seems  not  to  matter,"  I  answered  feebly,  "  to 
be  small  and  trivial." 

"  Work  whilst  ye  have  the  light"  she  quoted. 
The  words  were  in  the  room,  in  the  air. 

"  It  is  not  light,  not  very  light,"  I  pleaded. 

"  There  has  been  no  biography  of  me.  How 
would  you  like  it  if  it  had  been  you?  And  all  the 
critics  said  I  would  live  ..." 

"Must  I  stay  for  that?" 

"  You  promised,  you  know." 

"Did  I?    I  had  forgotten." 

"  No,  no.  You  could  not  forget,  not  even  you. 
And  you  will  make  your  readers  cry." 

"  But  if  I  make  myself  cry  too?  " 

"  Write." 

And  I  wrote,  sick  with  exhaustion,  without  con- 
scious volition  or  the  power  to  stop.  I  wonder 
whether  any  other  writer  has  ever  had  this  experi- 
ence. I  could  not  stop  writing  although  my  arm 
swelled  to  an  unnatural  size  and  my  side  ached.  I 
covered  ream  after  ream  of  paper.  I  never  stopped 
nor  halted  for  word  or  thought.  I  was  wearied, 
aching  from  head  to  foot,  shaking  and  even  crying 
with  fatigue  and  the  pain  in  my  swollen  arm  or 
side,  but  never  ceasing  to  write,  like  a  galley  slave 


148  TWILIGHT 

at  his  oar.  Sometimes  in  swimming  semi-conscious- 
ness I  thought  this  was  my  eternal  punishment,  that 
because  I  had  swept  so  much  aside  that  I  might 
write,  and  yet  had  written  badly,  now  I  must  write 
for  ever  and  for  ever,  words  and  scenes  and  sen- 
tences that  would  be  obliterated,  that  would  not 
stand.  I  knew  in  these  semi-conscious  moments  that 
I  was  writing  in  water  and  not  in  ink.  But  I  was 
driven  on,  and  on,  relentlessly. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HERE  is  the  story  I  wrote  under  morphia  and  in 
that  strange  driving  stress,  set  down  as  well  as  I  can 
recall  it,  but  seeming  now  so  much  less  real  and 
distinct.  I  have  not  tried  to  polish,  only  to  remem- 
ber. There  was  then  no  effort  after  composition,  no 
correction,  transposition  nor  alteration,  and  neither 
is  there  now;  nor  conscious  psychology  nor  senti- 
ment. The  scenes  were  all  set  in  the  house  where  I 
lay,  and  there  was  no  pause  in  the  continuity  of  the 
drama.  I  saw  every  gesture  and  heard  every  word 
spoken.  The  letters  were  and  are  before  me  as 
confirmatory  evidence.  My  own  intrusive  illness 
minimised  the  interest  of  the  circumstances  to  my 
immediate  surroundings.  But  to  me  it  seems  that 
the  consecutive  actuality  of  the  morphia  dream  or 
dreams  is  unusual  if  not  unique,  and  gives  value  to 
the  narrative. 

I  refer  to  the  MS.  notes  and  diary  for  the  begin- 
ning of  the  story,  but  have  had  to  make  several 
emendations  and  additions.  There  were  too  many 
epigrams,  and  the  impression  the  writer  wished  to 
convey  was  only  in  the  intention,  and  not  in  the 
execution.  What  she  left  out  I  have  put  in.  It 

should  be  easy  to  separate  my  work  from  hers.    And 

149 


ISO  TWILIGHT 

she  carried  her  story  very  little  way.  From  the 
beginning  of  the  letters  the  autobiography  stopped. 
It  started  abruptly,  and  ended  in  the  same  way. 

There  were  trial  titles  in  the  MS.  notes.  "  Be- 
tween the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute "  competed  in 
favour  with  "  The  Love  Story  of  a  Woman  of 
Genius." 

Margaret  Belinda  Rysam  was  the  daughter  of 
a  New  Yorker  on  the  up-grade.  Her  father  began 
to  make  money  when  she  was  a  baby  and  never  left 
off,  even  to  take  breath,  until  she  was  between  thir- 
teen and  fourteen.  Then  his  wife  died,  not  of  a 
broken  heart,  but  of  her  appetites  fed  to  repletion, 
and  an  overwhelming  desire  for  further  provender. 
Her  poor  mouth,  so  much  larger  than  her  stom- 
ach, was  always  open.  He  piled  a  great  house 
on  Fifth  Avenue  into  it  and  a  bewilderment  of 
furniture,  modern  old  Masters  and  antiquities,  also 
pearls  and  other  jewellery.  She  never  shut  it, 
although  later  there  were  a  country  house  to  digest 
and  some  freak  entertainments,  a  multiplicity  of 
reporters  and  a  few  disappointments.  The  really 
"  right  people  "  were  difficult  to  secure,  the  nearly 
"  right  people "  were  dust  and  ashes.  A  con- 
tinental tour  was  to  follow  and  a  London  season. 
.  .  .  Before  they  started  she  died  of  a  surfeit  which 
the  doctors  called  by  some  other  name  and  operated 
upon,  expensively. 

In  the  pause  of  the  hushed  house  and  the  funeral 


TWILIGHT  151 

Edgar  B.  Rysam  began  to  think  that  perhaps  he  had 
made  sufficient  money.  He  really  grieved  for  that 
poor  open  mouth  and  those  upturned  grasping 
hands,  realising  that  it  was  to  overfill  them  that  he 
had  worked.  He  gave  up  his  office  and  found  the 
days  empty,  discovered  his  young  daughter,  and, 
nearly  to  her  undoing,  filled  them  with  her.  During 
her  mother's  life  she  had  been  left  to  the  happy 
seclusion  of  nursery  or  schoolroom;  subsidiary  to 
the  maelstrom  of  gold-dispensing.  Now  she  had 
more  governesses  and  tutors  than  could  be  fitted  into 
the  hurrying  hours,  and  became  easily  aware  of 
her  importance,  that  she  was  the  adored  and  only 
child  of  a  widowed  millionaire.  Forced  into  con- 
centrating her  entire  attention  upon  herself  she 
discovered  a  remarkable  personality.  Bent  at  first 
on  astonishing  her  surroundings  she  succeeded  in 
astonishing  herself.  She  found  that  she  acquired 
knowledge  with  infinite  ease  and  had  a  multiplicity 
of  minor  talents.  She  wrote  verses  and  essays,  sang, 
and  played  on  various  instruments.  Highly  paid 
governesses  and  tutors  exclaimed  and  proclaimed. 
The  words  prodigy,  and  genius,  pursued  and  illumi- 
nated her.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  no  subject  seemed 
to  her  so  interesting  as  the  consideration  of  her  own 
psychology. 

Nothing  could  have  saved  her  at  this  juncture  but 
what  actually  occurred.  For  she  had  no  incen- 
tive to  concentration,  and  every  battle  was  won 


152  TWILIGHT 

before  it  was  fought.  To  be  was  almost  sufficient. 
To  do,  superfluous,  almost  arrogant. 

Edgar  B.  Rysam  had,  however,  forgotten  to  safe- 
guard his  resources.  That  is  to  say,  his  fortune  was 
invested  in  railroad  bonds  and  stocks.  In  the  great 
railway  panic  of  1893  prices  came  tumbling  down 
and  public  confidence  fell  with  them.  Edgar  B.  in 
alarm,  for  he  had  forgotten  the  ways  of  railway 
magnates  and  financiers,  sold  out  and  lost  half  his 
capital.  He  reopened  his  office,  and  by  dint  of 
buying  and  selling  at  the  wrong  time,  rid  himself  of 
another  quarter.  When  he  woke  to  his  position, 
and  retired  for  the  second  time,  he  had  only  suffi- 
cient means  to  be  considered  a  rich  man  away  from 
his  native  land.  The  sale  of  the  mansion  in  Fifth 
Avenue,  the  country  house,  and  the  yacht  damned 
him  in  the  sight  of  his  fellow-citizens.  He  found 
himself  with  a  bare  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year, 
and  no  friends.  Under  the  circumstances  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  emigration,  and  he  finally  decided 
upon  England  as  being  the  most  hospitable  as  well 
as  the  most  congenial  of  abiding-places.  His 
linguistic  attainments  consisted  of  a  fair  fluency  in 
"  Americanese." 

During  the  year  he  had  spent  in  ruining  himself, 
his  young  daughter  became  conscious  of  a  pause  in 
the  astonished  admiration  she  excited.  She  bore  it 
better  than  might  have  been  expected,  because  it 
synchronised  with  her  first  love  affair.  She  had 


TWILIGHT  153 

become  passionately  enamoured  of  the  "  cold  white 
keys  "  and  practised  the  piano  innumerable  hours 
in  every  day. 

When  Edgar  B.  remembered  her  existence  again 
she  had  grown  pale  and  remote,  enwrapped  in  her 
gift  and  in  her  egotism,  not  doubting  at  all  she  would 
be  the  greatest  pianist  the  world  had  ever  seen,  and 
that  all  those  friends  and  acquaintances  who  had 
ignored  or  cold-shouldered  her  during  the  last  year 
would  wither  with  self-disdain  at  not  having  per- 
ceived it  earlier.  Not  by  her  father's  millions  would 
she  shine,  but  by  reason  of  her  unparalleled  powers. 
The  decision  to  visit  Europe  and  settle  in  England, 
for  a  time  was  not  unconnected  with  these  visions. 
She  insisted  she  required  more  and  better  lessons. 
Edgar  B.  was  awed  by  her  decision,  by  her  playing, 
by  her  astonishingly  perverse  and  burdened  youth. 
He  was  grateful  to  her  for  not  reproaching  him  for 
his  failure  to  grapple  with  a  new  position,  and  con- 
trasted her,  favourably,  notwithstanding  an  uneasy 
fear  of  disloyalty,  with  her  mother. 

"  What  do  we  want  of  wealth?  "  she  asked  in  her 
young  scorn.  And  spoke  of  the  vulgarity  of  money 
and  their  scampered  friends  of  the  Four  Hundred. 
In  those  early  days,  when  she  hoped  to  become  a 
pianist,  she  had  many  of  the  faults  of  inferior 
novelists  or  writers.  She  used,  for  instance,  other 
people's  words  instead  of  her  own,  and  said  she 
wished  to  "  scorn  delight  and  live  laborious  days." 


154  TWILIGHT 

Edgar  B.,  who  knew  no  vision  but  money  against  a 
background  of  rapacious  domestic  affection,  gaped 
at  and  tried  to  understand  her.  It  was  not  until 
they  were  on  board  the  "  Minotaur  "  and  he  had 
come  across  an  amiable  English  widow,  that  he 
learnt  his  daughter  was  indeed  a  genius,  ethereal,  a 
wonder-child.  But  one  who  needed  mothering ! 

Even  genius  must  eat,  sleep  for  reasonable  hours, 
wear  warm  clothes  in  cold  weather.  Margaret's 
absorbed  self -consciousness  left  her  no  weapons 
to  fight  Mrs.  Merrill-Cotton's  kindness.  She 
accepted  it  without  surprise.  It  seemed  quite  natural 
to  her ;  the  only  wonder  was  that  the  whole  shipload 
had  eyes  or  ears  for  any  one  else  once  they  had  heard 
her  play  the  piano!  Mrs.  Merrill-Cotton  brought 
her  port  wine  and  milk,  shawls  and  rugs,  volubly 
admiring  her  reticence,  her  unlikeness  to  other  girls, 
her  dawning  delicate  beauty.  In  truth  Margaret  at 
that  period  was  girlishly  angular  and  emaciated, 
from  midnight  and  other  labours,  too  much  intro- 
spection and  too  little  exercise,  other  than  digital. 
She  was  desultorily  interested  in  her  appearance 
and  a  little  uncertain  as  to  whether  the  mass  of 
her  fair  hair  accorded  with  her  pallid  complexion. 
Her  eyes  were  hazel  and  seemed  to  her  lacking 
in  expression.  She  did  not  think  herself  beautiful, 
but  admitted  she  was  "  mystic  "  and  of  an  unusual 
type. 

Mrs.  Merrill-Cotton  found  the  more  appropriate 


TWILIGHT  155 

words.  "  Dawning  delicate  beauty."  They  led  her 
to  the  looking-glass  so  often  that  she  had  no  time 
nor  thought  for  what  was  happening  elsewhere. 
Meanwhile  Mrs.  Merrill-Cotton  and  Mr.  Rysam 
foregathered  on  deck,  and  at  mealtimes,  at  the 
bridge  table  and  in  the  saloon.  Margaret  was 
assured  of  a  stepmother  long  before  she  realised  the 
possibility  of  her  father  having  a  thought  for  any- 
body but  herself.  And  then  she  was  told  that  it 
was  only  for  her  sake  that  the  engagement  had 
been  entered  into !  Mrs.  Merrill-Cotton,  it  appeared, 
was  the  centre  of  English  society,  had  a  large  income 
and  a  larger  heart.  She,  Margaret,  would  be  the 
chief  interest  of  the  two  of  them. 

Margaret's  indifference  to  mundane  things  was 
sufficient  to  make  her  presently  accept  the  position, 
if  not  enthusiastically,  yet  agreeably.  And,  strangely 
enough,  Mrs.  Merrill-Cotton  proved  to  be  as 
alleged.  She  had  never  had  a  daughter,  and  wished 
to  mother  Margaret:  she  had  no  other  ulterior 
motive  in  marrying  the  American.  Her  income 
was  at  least  as  much  as  she  had  said,  and  she  knew 
a  great  many  people.  That  they  were  city  people  of 
greater  wealth  than  distinction  made  no  difference 
to  her  future  husband.  He  wanted  a  domestic 
hearth  and  some  one  to  share  the  embarrassment  of 
his  exceptional  daughter. 

The  first  thing  they  did  after  the  wedding  was  to 
take  Margaret  to  Dresden  for  those  piano  lessons 


156  TWILIGHT 

she  craved.  She  broke  down  quickly, — had  not  the 
health,  so  the  doctors  said,  for  her  chosen  profession. 
They  said  her  heart  was  weak,  and  that  she  was 
anaemic.  So  father  and  stepmother  brought  her 
back  to  England,  and  installed  her  as  the  centre  of 
interest  in  the  big  house  in  Queen  Anne's  Gate. 

At  eighteen  she  published  her  first  novel,  at  her 
father's  expense.  It  was  new  in  method  and  tone. 
Word  was  sent  round  by  the  publisher  that  the 
authoress  was  a  young  and  beautiful  American 
heiress,  and  the  result  was  quite  an  extraordinary 
little  success. 

The  Lady  Mayoress  presented  her  to  her 
Sovereign,  after  which  the  social  atmosphere  of  the 
house  quickly  changed.  Margaret  began  to  under- 
stand, and  act.  Into  the  thick  coagulated  stream  of 
city  folk  for  whom  the  new  Mrs.  Rysam  had  an 
indefinable  respect  there  meandered  journalists, 
actors,  painters,  musicians.  The  whole  tone  of  the 
house  unconsciously  but  quickly  altered.  Culture 
was  now  the  watchword.  Money,  no  longer  a  topic 
of  conversation,  was  nevertheless  permitted  to  min- 
ister to  the  creature  comfort  of  men  and  women  of 
distinction  in  art  and  letters.  The  two  elderly 
people  accustomed  themselves  easily  to  the  change, 
they  were  of  the  non-resistant  type,  and  Margaret 
led  them.  When  in  her  twentieth  year  her  first 
play  was  produced  at  a  West  End  theatre,  and  she 
came  before  the  curtain  to  bow  her  acknowledgment 


TWILIGHT  157 

of  the  applause,  their  pride  was  overwhelming.  The 
next  book  was  praised  by  all  the  critics  who  had  been 
entertained  and  the  journalists  who  hoped  for  fur- 
ther entertainment.  Another  and  another  followed. 
Open  house  was  kept  in  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  and 
there  was  an  idea  afloat  in  lower  Bohemia  that  here 
was  the  counterpart  of  the  Eighteenth-century  salon. 

This  was  the  high-water  tide  of  Margaret's  good 
fortune.  She  had  (as  she  told  Gabriel  Stanton  in 
one  of  her  letters)  everything  that  a  young  woman 
could  desire.  The  disposition  of  wealth,  a  measure 
of  fame,  the  reputation  of  beauty,  lovers  and  ad- 
mirers galore.  Why,  out  of  the  multiplicity  of  these, 
she  should  have  selected  James  Capel,  is  one  of 
those  mysteries  that  always  remain  inexplicable.  It 
is  possible  that  he  wooed  her  perfunctorily,  and  set 
her  aflame  by  his  comparative  indifference !  She 
imbued  him  with  diffidence  and  a  hundred  chivalrous 
qualities  to  which  he  had  no  claim. 

James  Capel,  at  the  piano,  his  head  flung  back, 
his  dark  and  too  long  locks  flowing,  his  dark  eyes 
full  of  slumbrous  passions,  singing  mid^Victorian 
love  songs  in  a  voluptuous  manner  and  rich  vibrat- 
ing voice,  was  irresistible  to  many  women,  although 
his  lips  were  thick  and  his  nose  not  classic.  A 
woman  like  Margaret  should  have  been  immune 
from  his  virus.  Alas !  she  proved  ultra-susceptible, 
and  the  resultant  fever  exacted  from  her  nearly  the 
extremest  penalty. 


158  TWILIGHT 

James  Capel  accepted  all  his  tributes  and  seemed  to 
dispense  his  favours  equally,  kissing  this  one's  hands 
and  casting  languorous  glances  on  the  others.  He 
made  love  to  Margaret  with  the  rest,  knowing  no 
other  language  nor  approach.  Probably  he  liked  the 
Rysams'  establishment,  their  big  Steinway  Grand 
and  the  fine  dinners,  the  riot  of  wealth  and  the 
unlimited  hospitality ! 

He  said  afterwards,  and  every  one  believed  it,  all 
the  women  at  least,  that  the  last  thing  in  the  world  he 
contemplated  was  marriage,  that  the  whole  situation 
and  final  elopement  were  of  Margaret's  contriving. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  one  cannot  but  pity  her.  She  was 
only  twenty,  ignorant  of  evil,  with  the  defects  of  her 
qualities,  emotional,  highly  strung.  She  contracted 
a  secret  marriage  with  the  musician.  What  she 
suffered  in  her  quick  disillusionment  can  easily  be 
realised.  James  Capel  was  ill-bred,  and  of  a  vanity 
at  least  as  great  as  hers.  But  hers  had  justification 
and  his  none. 

Margaret  may  have  been  inadequate  as  a  wife, 
she  had  been  used  to  every  consideration  and  found 
herself  without  any.  James  Capel  was  beneath  her 
in  everything,  in  culture  and  education,  refinement. 
He  said  openly  that  men  like  himself  were  not  des- 
tined for  one  woman.  Their  short  married  life  was 
tragedy,  a  crucifixion  of  her  young  womanhood. 
She  had,  with  all  her  faults,  delicacy,  physical 
reserve,  a  subtlety  of  charm  and  brilliant  intellect. 


TWILIGHT  159 

She  had  given  herself  to  a  man  who  could  appreciate 
none  of  these,  who  was  coarse  from  his  thick  lips 
to  his  language,  from  his  large  spatulate  hands  to 
his  lascivious  small  brain.  He  burned  her  with  his 
taunts  of  how  she  had  pursued  him,  torn  him  from 
other  women,  forced  her  love  upon  him.  There  was 
just  enough  truth  in  it  to  make  her  writhe  in  her 
desecrated  soul  and  modesties.  Of  course  she 
thought  he  had  feared  to  aspire.  Now  he  made  it 
evident  he  considered  it  was  she  who  had  aspired ! ! ! 
He  told  her  of  duchesses  who  had  sought  his  songs 
and  his  caresses,  and  gloatingly  of  unimaginable 
incidents.  He  tortured  her  beyond  endurance. 

She  left  him  for  the  shelter  of  her  father's  home 
within  a  few  months  of  their  marriage.  There  she 
was  nursed  back  into  moral  and  physical  health, 
welcomed,  comforted,  pitied,  and  she  slowly  emerged 
from  this  mud  bath  of  matrimony.  Her  press, 
theatrical  and  lettered  friends  rallied  round  her; 
wealth  and  foreign  travel  ameliorated  the  position. 
She  wrote  again  and  with  greater  success  than 
before.  Suffering  had  deepened  her  note,  she  was 
still  without  sentiment,  but  had  acquired  something 
of  sympathy. 

Years  passed.  She  had  almost  forgotten  the  deg- 
radation and  humiliation  of  her  marriage,  when  an 
escapade  of  her  husband's,  brazenly  public,  forced 
her  to  take  definite  steps  for  legal  freedom.  She  was 
now  sufficiently  famous  for  the  papers  to  treat 


160  TWILIGHT 

the  news  as  a  cause  celebre.  James  Capel  unex- 
pectedly defended  himself,  and  fought  her  with 
every  weapon  malice  and  an  unscrupulous  solicitor 
could  forge.  Part  of  the  evidence  was  heard  in 
camera,  the  rest  should  have  been  relegated  to  the 
same  obscurity.  All  the  bitterness  and  misery  of 
those  terrible  months  were  revived.  Now  it  seemed 
there  was  nothing  for  her  but  obliteration.  She 
thought  it  impossible  she  could  ever  again  come 
before  the  public,  for  her  story  to  be  recalled.  She 
was  all  unnerved  and  shaken,  refusing  to  go  out  or 
to  see  people.  She  thought  she  desired  nothing  but 
obscurity. 

Yet  she  had  to  write. 

The  book  on  pottery  was  a  sudden  inspiration.  It 
would  be  something  entirely  new  and  unassociated 
with  her  in  the  public  mind.  There  were  dreadful 
months  to  be  got  through,  the  waiting  months  during 
which,  in  law  at  least,  she  was  still  James  Capel's 
wife,  a  condition  more  intolerable  now  than  it  had 
ever  been. 

Whatever  she  may  have  thought  about  herself  it 
is  obvious  that  in  essentials  she  was  unaltered.  Her 
egotism  had  re-established  itself  under  her  father 
and  good  stepmother's  care,  and  her  amazing  self- 
consciousness.  To  her  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  world 
were  talking  about  her.  There  was  some  founda- 
tion for  her  belief,  of  course.  In  so  much  as  she  was 
a  public  character,  she  was  a  favourite  of  that  small 


TWILIGHT  161 

eclectic  public.  She  may  have  overrated  her  posi- 
tion, taken  as  due  to  herself  alone  that  which  was 
equally  if  not  more  essentially  owing  to  her  father's 
wealth  and  habit  of  keeping  open  house.  Her  letters 
are  eminently  characteristic.  Her  self  is  more 
prominent  in  them  than  her  lover.  She  seems  to 
have  bewildered  Gabriel  Stanton,  who  knew  little  or 
nothing  of  women,  and  carried  him  off  his  feet.  He 
may  have  begun  by  pitying  her,  she  appealed  to  his 
pity,  to  his  chivalry.  As  she  said  herself,  she  "  ex- 
posed herself  entirely  to  him."  Young,  rich,  beauti- 
ful, famous,  she  was,  nevertheless,  at  the  time  she 
first  met  Gabriel  Stanton  as  a  bird  in  flight,  shot  on 
the  wing  and  falling;  blood-stained,  shrinking,  ter- 
rified, the  stain  spreading.  Into  Gabriel  Stanton's 
pitiful  powerless  hands,  set  on  healing,  she  fell 
almost  without  a  struggle.  This  at  least  is  her  own 
phrasing,  and  the  way  she  wished  the  matter  to 
appear.  As  it  did  appear  to  him,  and  perhaps  some- 
times to  herself.  To  others  of  course  it  might 
seem  she  was  the  fowler,  he  the  bird ! 

Certainly  after  the  first  visit  to  Greyfriars',  when 
she  opened  the  matter  of  the  ill-fated  book  on  Staf- 
fordshire Pottery  there  were  constant  letters,  inter- 
views and  meetings,  conventional  and  unconven- 
tional. Perhaps  it  was  only  her  dramatic  brain, 
working  for  copy  behind  its  enforced  and 
vowed  inactivity,  that  made  her  act  as  she  did. 
Her  letters  all  read  as  if  they  were  intended  for  pub- 


162  TWILIGHT 

lication.  In  her  disingenuous  diary  and  short  MS. 
notes,  there  were  trial  titles,  without  a  date,  and 
forced  epigrammatic  phrases.  "  Publisher  and 
Sinner "  occurred  once.  There  is  a  note  that 
"  Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute  "  met  the  posi- 
tion more  accurately. 

She  told  Gabriel  Stanton,  she  must  have  convinced 
Peter  Kennedy  and  herself,  that  she  never  knew  the 
danger  she  ran  until  it  was  too  late.  But  the  papers 
she  left  disproved  the  tale. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  early  letters  have  already  been  transcribed. 
Also  the  description  of  when  and  how  I  first  saw 
Margaret  and  Gabriel  Stanton  together,  on  the 
beach  when  she  told  him  that  his  coming  had  been  a 
disappointment. 

Recalling  the  swift  and  painful  writing  of  the 
story  it  would  seem  I  saw  them  again  two  days  later, 
and  that  she  was  occupied  in  making  amends.  They 
had  talked  and  grown  in  intimacy,  and  now  it  was 
Sunday  evening.  They  were  in  the  music  room  at 
Carbies,  and  she  had  been  playing  to  him  while 
he  sat  spellbound,  listening  to  and  adoring  her.  She 
was  in  that  grey  silk  dress  with  the  white  muslin 
fichu  finished  with  a  pink  rose,  her  pale  hair  was 
parted  in  the  middle  and  she  wore  her  Saint  Cecilia 
expression.  She  left  off  playing  presently,  came 
over  to  him  with  swift  grace  and  sank  on  the  foot- 
stool at  his  feet. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  You  are  not 
vexed  with  me  still  ?  " 

"  Was  I  ever  vexed  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  afternoon,  when  I  said  I  was  disap- 
pointed in  you." 

163 


1 64  TWILIGHT 

"  Not  vexed,  surely  not  vexed,  only  infinitely 
grieved,  startled." 

"  Have  you  enjoyed  your  visit,  notwithstanding 
that  strange  slow  beginning?  Tell  me,  have  you 
been  happy  ?  " 

"Have  you?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  quite  know.  I  have  been 
so  excited,  restless.  I  have  not  wanted  any  one  else. 
It  is  difficult  for  me  to  know  myself.  Are  you  still 
sorry  for  me,  like  you  were  in  London  ?  " 

"  My  heart  goes  out  to  you.  You  have  suffered, 
but  you  have  great  compensations;  great  gifts.  I 
would  sympathise  with  you,  but  you  make  me  feel 
my  own  limitations.  I  fear  to  fail  you.  You  have 
the  happier  nature,  the  wider  vision  ..." 

"Then  you  have  not  been  happy?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,  inexpressibly  happy.  I  wish  I  could 
tell  you.  But  I  matter  so  little  in  comparison  with 
you." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  be  humble." 

"  I  am  not  humble,  I  am  proud." 

"Because?" 

"  Because  you  have  taken  me  for  your  friend." 

He  never  touched  her  whilst  she  sat  there  at  his 
feet,  but  his  eyes  never  left  her  and  his  voice  was 
deep  and  tender.  They  talked  of  friendship,  all  the 
time,  they  only  spoke  of  friendship.  And  he  was 
unsure  of  himself,  or  of  her,  more  deeply  shy  than 
she,  and  moved,  though  less  able  to  express  it. 


TWILIGHT  165 

"  Next  week  you  will  come  again.  Will  it  be  the 
same  between  us  ?  " 

"  I  will  come  whenever  you  let  me.  With  me  it 
will  always  be  the  same,  or  more.  Sometimes  I 
cannot  believe  that  it  is  to  me  this  is  happening.  To 
me,  Gabriel  Stanton!  What  is  it  you  find  in  me? 
Sometimes  I  think  it  is  only  your  own  sweet  good- 
ness; that  what  you  expressed  in  seeing  me  this 
time  you  will  find  again  and  again — disappointment ; 
that  I  am  not  the  man  you  think  me,  the  man  you 
need." 

"  Am  I  what  you  thought  I  would  be?  Are  you 
satisfied  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  overpowered  with  you." 

She  stole  a  look  at  him.  His  close  and  thin- 
lipped  mouth  had  curves  that  were  wholly  new,  his 
sunken  eyes  were  lit  up.  She  was  secretly  enrap- 
tured with  him. 

"  I  thought  you  very  grave  and  severe  when  I 
first  came  to  the  office.  What  did  you  think  of 
me?" 

"What  I  do  now,  that  you  were  wonderful. 
After  you  left  I  could  not  settle  to  work  .  .  .  but 
I  have  told  you  this." 

"  Tell  me  again.  Why  didn't  you  say  something 
nice  to  me  then  ?  You  were  short,  sharp,  non-com- 
mittal. I  went  away  quite  downcast,  I  made  sure 
you  did  not  want  my  poor  little  book,  that  you  would 
write  and  refuse  it,  in  set  businesslike  terms." 


166  TWILIGHT 

"  I  knew  I  would  not.  If  George  had  said  no,  I 
should  have  fought  him.  I  was  determined  upon 
that  book  of  Staffordshire  Pottery.  Were  you  dis- 
appointed with  my  letter  when  it  came?" 

"  I  loved  it.  I  have  always  loved  your  letters. 
You  never  disappoint  me  then." 

Because  they  had  grown  more  intimate  he  was 
able  to  say  to  her  gently,  but  with  unmistakable 
feeling : 

"  Dear,  it  hurts  me  so  when  you  say  that.  I  know 
I  shall  think  of  it  when  I  am  alone,  wonder  in  what 
way  I  fail  you,  how  I  can  alter  or  change.  Can  you 
help  me,  tell  me?  I  came  down  with  such  con- 
fidence." 

"  But  you  had  cut  yourself  shaving." 

"  Be  a  little  serious,  beloved.     Tell  me." 

"  You  thought  I  cared  for  you  .  .  .  that  we 
should  begin  in  Pineland  where  we  left  off  in 
London?" 

"I  hoped    ..." 

"  But  I  had  run  away  from  you ! " 

They  smiled  at  each  other. 

"  You  will  come  again  next  week  ?  "  she  asked 
him  inconsistently. 

"  And  if  I  should  again  disappoint  you?  " 

"  Then  you  must  be  patient  with  me,  good  to  me 
until  it  is  all  right  again.  I  am  a  strange  creature, 
a  woman  of  moods."  She  was  silent  a  moment. 
"  I  have  been  through  so  much."  He  bent  toward 


TWILIGHT  167 

her.     She  rose  abruptly,  there  had  been  little  or  no 
caressing  between  them.    Now  she  spoke  quickly : 

"  Don't  hope  too  much  ...  or  ...  or  expect 
anything.  I  am  a  megalomaniac:  everything  that 
happens  to  me  seems  larger,  grander,  finer,  more 
wonderful  than  that  which  happens  to  any  one 
else." 

She  paused  a  moment.    "  This  .  .  .  then,  between 
us  is  friendship  ?  "  she  went  on  tentatively. 
He  answered  her  very  steadily : 
"  This,  between  us,  is  what  you  will." 
"You  know  how  it  has  been  with  me?"     Her 
voice  was  broken.      He   was   deeply  moved   and 
answered : 

"  God  gave  it  to  me  to  comfort  you." 
There  was  a  long  pause  after  that.    It  was  getting 
late,  and  they  must  soon  part.    He  kissed  her  hands 
when  he  went  away,  first  one  and  then  the  other. 
"  Until  next  week." 

"  Until  next  week,  or  any  time  you  need  me." 
Then  there  were  letters  between  them,  letters  that 
have  already  been  transcribed. 

He  came  the  next  week  and  the  next.  A  man  of 
infinite  culture,  widely  read  and  with  a  very  real 
knowledge  of  every  subject  of  which  he  spoke,  it 
was  not  perhaps  strange  that  she  fell  under  the 
spell  of  his  companionship,  and  found  it  ever  more 
satisfying. 

Her  own  education  was  American  and  superficial, 


i68  TWILIGHT 

but  her  intelligence  was  really  of  a  high  order  and 
browsed  eagerly  upon  his.  The  only  other  she 
was  seeing  at  this  time  was  Dr.  Peter  Kennedy,  a 
man  of  very  different  calibre.  Peter  Kennedy, 
country  born  and  bred,  of  a  coarsening  profession 
and  provincial  experience. 

Margaret  was  not  made  to  live  alone,  for  all  her 
talk  of  resources,  her  piano  and  her  books,  her 
writing  materials.  The  house,  Carbies,  was  soon 
obnoxious  to  her.  She  had  taken  it  for  three  months 
against  the  advice  of  her  people,  who  feared  solitude 
for  her.  She  could  not  give  in  so  soon,  tell  them 
they  were  right.  But  it  was  and  remains  ugly, 
ill-furnished,  with  its  rough  garden.  She  had  some 
sort  of  heart  attack  the  Monday  after  Gabriel  Stan- 
ton's  first  visit,  and  it  was  then  Dr.  Kennedy  told 
her  about  her  house,  wondered  at  her  having  taken 
it. 

After  he  told  her  that  it  had  been  a  nursing-home 
she  began  to  dislike  the  place  actively,  said  the  rooms 
were  haunted  with  the  groans  of  people  who  had 
been  operated  upon,  that  she  smelt  ether  and  disin- 
fectants. She  did  not  tell  Gabriel  Stanton  these 
things.  To  Gabriel,  Carbies  was  enchanted  ground, 
he  came  here  as  to  a  shrine,  worshipping.  He  used 
to  talk  to  her  of  the  golden  bloom  of  the  gorse,  and 
the  purple  of  the  distant  sea,  of  the  way  the  sun 
shone  on  his  coming.  When  with  him  she  made  no 
mention  of  distaste.  For  five  successive  weeks  that 


TWILIGHT  169 

spring  the  weather  held,  and  each  week-end  was 
lovelier  than  the  last.  From  Friday  to  Monday  she 
may  have  felt  the  charm  of  which  he  spoke.  From 
Monday  to  Friday  she  lamented  to  her  doctor  about 
the  groans  and  the  smell  of  disinfectants,  and  he  con- 
soled her  in  his  own  way,  which  was  not  hers,  and 
would  not  have  been  Gabriel's,  but  was  the  best  he 
knew. 

Peter  Kennedy  at  this  time  was  recently  qualified, 
not  very  learned  in  his  profession,  nor  in  anything 
else  for  that  matter.  He  became  quickly  infatuated 
with  his  new  patient.  She  told  him  she  had  heart 
disease,  and  he  looked  up  "  Diseases  of  the  Heart " 
in  Ouain's  "  Dictionary  of  Medicine  "  and  gave  her 
all  the  prescribed  remedies,  one  after  another. 

He  heard  of  her  reputation ;  chiefly  from  herself, 
probably.  And  that  she  was  rich.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Rysam  came  down  once,  with  motors  and  maids, 
and  made  it  clear;  they  told  him  what  a  precious 
charge  he  had.  He  took  Edgar  Rysam  out  golfing, 
golfing  had  been  Peter  Kennedy's  chief  interest  in 
life  until  he  met  Margaret  Capel.  And  Edgar  found 
him  very  companionable  and  most  considerate  to  a 
beginner.  Edgar  Rysam  had  taken  to  golf  because 
he  was  putting  on  flesh,  because  his  London  doctor 
and  some  few  stock-broking  friends  advised  it.  He 
had  practised  assiduously  with  a  professional,  learnt 
how  to  stand,  but  forgotten  the  lessons  in  approach 
and  drive  an4  putt. 


i;o  TWILIGHT 

He  had  succeeded  in  acquiring  a  bag  of  fine  clubs 
and  some  golfing  jargon.  He  never  knew  there 
was  any  enjoyment  in  the  game  until  Peter  Kennedy 
walked  round  the  Pineland  course  with  him  and 
handicapped  him  into  winning  a  match.  After  that 
he  wanted  to  play  every  day  and  always,  talked  of 
prolonging  his  stay,  of  coming  down  again.  Mar- 
garet reproached  Peter  for  what  he  had  done. 

"  I  did  it  to  please  you  ...  I  thought  you 
wanted  them  to  be  amused." 

"If  that  was  all  I  wanted  I  would  have  stayed  in 
London,"  she  retorted.  She  was  extraordinarily 
and  almost  contemptuously  straightforward  with 
Peter  Kennedy.  She  knew  that  with  a  man  of  his 
limited  experience  it  was  unnecessary  to  be  subtle. 
She  may  have  sometimes  encouraged  his  approaches, 
but  the  greater  part  of  the  time  snubbed  him  unmer- 
cifully. 

"  You  don't  put  yourself  on  the  same  level  as 
Gabriel  Stanton,  do  you?  "  she  asked  him  scornfully 
one  day  when  he  was  gloomily  complaining  that  "  a 
fellow  never  had  a  chance." 

"  If  I  were  not  more  of  a  man  than  that  I'd  kick 
myself!" 

"  More  of  a  man !  " 

"  You  wouldn't  get  me  to  stay  at  the  hotel."  She 
flushed  and  said : 

"  Well,  you  can  go  now.  I've  had  enough  of  you, 
you  tire  me." 


TWILIGHT  171 

"  You'll  send  for  me  to  come  back  directly  you  are 
ill?" 

"  Very  likely.  That  only  means  I  like  your  drugs 
better  than  you." 

He  seized  her  hand,  her  waist,  not  for  the  first 
time,  swore  that  he  would  kill  himself  if  she  despised 
and  flouted  him.  Probably  she  liked  the  scenes  he 
made  her,  for  she  often  provoked  them.  They  were 
mere  rough  animal  scenes,  acutely  different  from 
those  she  was  able  to  bring  about  with  Gabriel.  But 
she  did  not  do  the  only  obvious  and  correct  thing, 
which  was  to  dismiss  him  and  find  another  doctor. 

In  these  strange  days,  waiting  for  her  freedom, 
seeing  Gabriel  Stanton  from  Saturday  to  Monday 
and  only  Peter  Kennedy  all  the  long  intervening 
week,  she  may  have  liked  the  excitement  of  being 
attended  by  a  doctor  who  was  madly  in  love  with 
her.  She  excused  herself  to  me  on  the  ground  that 
she  was  a  novelist  and  he  a  strange  and  primitive 
creature  of  whom  she  was  making  a  study.  Also, 
curiously  enough,  he  was  genuinely  musical.  Some- 
thing of  an  executant  and  an  enthralled  listener. 

He  himself  suggested  more  than  once  that  she 
should  have  other  advice  about  her  heart  and  he 
brought  his  partner  to  see  her.  But  never  repeated 
the  experiment.  Dr.  Lansdowne  purred  and 
prodded  her,  talking  all  the  time  he  used  his  stetho- 
scope, smiling  between  whiles  in  a  superior  way  as 
if  he  knew  everything.  Particularly  when  she  tried 


172  TWILIGHT 

to  tell  him  her  symptoms,  or  what  other  doctors 
had  diagnosed. 

"  You  have  a  nurse  ?  "  he  asked  her.  "  I  had 
better  see  her  nurse,  Kennedy." 

"  A  nurse, — why  should  I  have  a  nurse  ?  I  have 
a  maid." 

"  You  ought  never  to  be  without  a  nurse.  You 
ought  never  to  be  alone,"  he  told  her  solemnly. 
"  Now  do,  my  dear  child,  be  guided  by  me."  He 
smiled  and  patted  her.  "  I  will  tell  Dr.  Kennedy 
all  about  it,  give  him  full  instructions.  I  will  see 
you  again  in  a  few  days.  Come,  Kennedy,  I  can 
give  you  a  lift;  we  will  decide  what  is  to  be  done." 
He  smiled  his  farewell. 

"  See  me  again  in  a  day  or  two !  Not  if  I  know 
it.  Not  in  a  day  or  two,  or  a  week  or  two,  or  a 
month  or  two." 

She  was  furious  with  him,  and  with  Dr.  Kennedy 
for  having  brought  him.  Peter  Kennedy  had  acted 
well,  according  to  his  lights.  He  did  not  wish  to 
turn  his  beloved  patient  over  to  his  all-conquering 
partner,  but  the  more  infatuated  he  became  about 
her  the  less  he  trusted  his  own  knowledge. 

"  A  bad  case  of  angina,  extensive  valvular  disease. 
Keep  her  as  quiet  as  possible,  she  ought  not  to  be 
contradicted.  Get  a  nurse  or  a  couple  of  nurses 
for  her.  Daughter  of  Edgar  Rysam,  the  American 
millionaire,  isn't  she?  Seems  to  have  taken  quite 
a  fancy  to  you.  Extraordinary  creatures  these  so- 


TWILIGHT  173 

called  clever  women!  You  ought  to  make  a  good 
thing  out  of  the  case." 

Kennedy  went  back  to  Carbies  after  Dr.  Lans- 
downe  dropped  him,  made  his  way  back  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Margaret  had  bidden  him  return  to  tell 
her  what  had  been  said. 

"  Not  that  I  believe  in  him  or  in  anything  he  may 
have  told  you.  He  did  not  even  listen  to  my  heart, 
he  was  so  busy  talking  and  grinning  and  reassuring 
me.  What  did  he  tell  you?  That  he  heard  a  mur- 
mur? I  am  so  sick  of  that  murmur.  I  have  been 
hearing  of  it  ever  since  I  was  a  child." 

Peter  slurred  over  everything  Lansdowne  had 
said  to  him,  except  that  she  must  be  kept  quiet ;  she 
must  not  allow  herself  to  get  excited.  He  implored 
her  to  keep  very  quiet.  She  laughed  and  asked 
whether  he  thought  he  had  a  calmative  influence? 
He  put  his  arms  about  her  for  all  that  she  resisted 
him  and  blubbered  over  her  like  the  great  baby  he 
was. 

"  I  adore  you,  I  want  to  take  care  of  you,  and  you 
won't  look  at  anybody  but  him." 

She  pushed  him  away,  told  him  she  could  not 
bear  to  be  touched. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him?  Tell  me,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Gabriel  Stanton  it  would  have  been  me, 
wouldn't  it ?  You  do  like  me  a  little,  don't  you?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  keep  him  at  a  proper  dis- 
tance. 


1/4  TWILIGHT 

"  Like  you !  not  particularly.  Why  should  I  ? 
You  are  very  troublesome  and  presumptuous." 

She  could  not  deal  with  him  as  she  did  with 
Gabriel.  To  this  young  country  doctor,  ten  years 
before  I  knew  him  and  he  had  acquired  wisdom, 
men  and  women  were  just  men  and  women,  no  more 
and  no  less.  He  had  fallen  headlong  in  love  with 
Margaret,  and  when  he  saw  he  had,  as  he  said,  no 
chance,  he  could  not  be  brought  to  believe  that 
Gabriel  Stanton  was  not  her  lover.  He  was  demon- 
stratively primitive,  and  many  of  his  so-called  medi- 
cal visits  she  spent  in  fighting  his  advances.  He 
knew  that  what  she  had  to  give  she  was  giving  to 
Gabriel  Stanton,  because  she  told  him  so,  made  no 
secret  of  it,  but  was  for  ever  asking  "  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  him?  If  you'd  met  me  first?  "  One  would 
have  thought  that  Margaret,  Gabriel's  "  fair  pale 
Margaret,"  would  have  resented  or  at  least  tired  of 
this  rough  persistent  wooing,  but  if  this  were  so 
there  was  nothing  in  her  conduct  to  show  it. 

She  said  or  wrote  to  Gabriel  Stanton :  "  the  very 
thought  of  physical  love  is  repugnant  to  me, 
horrible."  Yet  Peter  kissed  her  hands,  her  feet, 
attempted  her  lips,  made  her  fierce  wild  scenes.  She 
called  him  a  boy,  but  he  was  a  year  older  than  her- 
self. Gabriel  brought  her  books  and  the  most 
reverent  worship,  was  mindful  of  her  slightest  wish. 
He  hoped  that  one  day  she  would  be  his  wife,  but 
scarcely  dared  to  say  it,  since  once  she  put  the 


TWILIGHT  175 

matter   aside,   almost   imploringly,   growing   pale, 
seeming  afraid. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  marriage,  not  yet.  How 
can  you  ?  At  least,  wait !  " 

She  spoke  of  her  sensitiveness.  But  her  sensitive- 
ness was  as  a  mountain  to  a  mist  compared  with  his. 

She  would  tell  him  her  most  intimate  thoughts,  sit 
with  him  by  dying  fire  or  in  gathering  twilight,  hold- 
ing herself  aloof.  If,  because  he  was  so  different 
from  Peter  Kennedy,  she  did  sometimes  try  her 
woman's  wiles  on  him,  she  never  moved  him  to 
depart  from  the  programme  or  the  principles  she 
herself  had  laid  down. 

Another  Sunday  evening, — it  was  either  the  third 
or  fourth  of  his  coming, — sitting  in  the  lamplight, 
after  dinner,  in  the  music  room,  after  a  long  enervat- 
ing day  of  mutual  confidences  and  ever-growing 
intimacy,  she  tried  to  break  through  his  defences. 
They  had  been  talking  of  Nietzsche,  not  of  his 
philosophy,  but  his  life.  She  had  been  envying 
Nietzsche's  devoted  sister  and  her  opportunities 
when,  suddenly  and  disingenuously,  she  startled 
Gabriel  by  saying : 

"  You  are  not  a  bit  interested  in  what  I  am 
saying,  you  are  thinking  of  something  else  all  the 
time." 

"  Of  you    .   .   .    only  of  you !  " 

"  Of  the  intellectual  me  or  the  physical  me?  Do 
I  please  you  to-night  ?  " 


1 76  TWILIGHT 

She  nearly  always  wore  grey,  a  ribbon  or  a  flower, 
material  or  cut,  diversified  her  wardrobe.  To-night 
the  grey  material  was  the  softest  crepe  de  chine ;  and 
she  wore  one  pink  rose  in  a  blue  belt.  This  treat- 
ment gave  value  to  her  blonde  cendre  hair  and  fair 
complexion,  she  gave  the  impression  of  a  most 
delicate,  slightly  faded,  yet  modern  miniature. 

"  You  always  please  me." 

"  Please,  or  excite  you  ?  " 

"  My  dear  one !  " 

He  was  startled,  thought  she  did  not  know  what 
it  was  she  was  saying.  His  blood  leaped,  but  he  had 
it  under  control.  What  was  growing  perfectly  be- 
tween them  was  love.  She  would  soon  be  a  free 
woman. 

"  I  want  to  know.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  I 
were  more  beautiful  ..." 

"  You  could  not  be  more  beautiful." 

"  More  like  other  women,  or  perhaps  if  you  were 
more  like  other  men  ..." 

"There  is  no  difference  between  me  and  other 
men,"  he  answered  quickly.  And  then  although  he 
thought  she  did  not  know  what  she  was  implying,  or 
where  the  conversation  might  carry  them,  he  went 
on  even  more  steadily :  "  I  want  to  carry  out  your 
wishes.  If  I  had  the  privilege  of  telling  you  all  that 
is  in  my  heart  ..." 

"  I  am  admiring  your  self-control." 

It  was  true  she  hardly  knew  what  was  impelling 


TWILIGHT  177 

her  to  this  reckless  mood.  "  My  wishes !  What  are 
my  wishes?  Sometimes  one  thing  and  sometimes 
another.  To-night  for  instance  ..." 

He  was  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  she  on  the  high 
fender  stool  in  the  firelight.  There  were  only  oil 
lamps  in  the  room,  and  she  and  the  fireside  shone 
more  brightly  than  they. 

When  she  said  softly,  "  To-night  for  instance," 
she  got  up ;  her  eyes  seemed  to  challenge  him.  He 
rose  too,  and  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms, 
but  that  she  resisted. 

"  No,  no,  no,  you  don't  really  want  to  ... 
talking  is  enough  for  you." 

"  You  strange  Margaret,"  he  said  tenderly. 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  if  you  care  for  me  or  only 
for  my  talk,"  she  said  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"  If  you  only  knew."  His  arms  remained  about 
her. 

"  If  I  only  knew !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Tell  me," 
she  whispered  coaxingly. 

"  How  I  long  for  this  waiting  time  to  be  at  an 
end.  To  woo  you,  win  you.  You  say  anything 
approaching  physical  love  is  hateful  and  abhorrent 
to  you.  Yet,  if  I  thought  .  .  .  Margaret!" 

She  did  not  repel  him,  although  his  arms  were 
around  her.  And  now,  reverently,  softly,  he  sought 
and  found  her  unreluctant  lips.  One  of  the  lamps 
flickered  and  went  out.  His  arms  tightened  about 
her ;  she  had  not  thought  to  be  so  happy  in  any  man's 


1 78  TWILIGHT 

arms.  Her  heart  beat  very  fast  and  the  blood  in  her 
pulses  rose. 

"  How  much  do  you  care  for  me  ?  "  she  whis- 
pered ;  her  voice  trembled. 

"  More  than  for  life  itself,"  he  whispered  back. 

"And  I  .  .  .  I  .  .  ."  He  felt  her  trembling 
in  his  arms  as  if  with  fear.  He  loved  and  hushed  her 
with  ineffable  tenderness,  his  control  keeping  pace 
with  his  rising  blood.  "  My  love,  my  love,  I  will 
take  care  of  you.  Trust  yourself  to  me.  I  love 
you  perfectly,  beloved." 

He  had  an  exquisite  sense  of  honour  and  a  com- 
plete ignorance  of  womanhood.  A  flash  of  electric- 
ity from  him  and  all  would  have  been  aflame.  But 
she  had  said  once  that  until  the  decree  was  made 
absolute  she  did  not  look  upon  herself  as  a  free 
woman. 

"  My  little  brave  one,  beloved.  It  will  not  be 
always  like  this  between  us.  Tell  me  that  it  will 
not.  I  count  the  days  and  hours.  You  will  take 
me  for  your  husband  ?  " 

She  could  feel  the  beating  of  his  pulses,  her  cheek 
lay  against  his  coat.  But  her  heart  slowed  down  a 
little.  How  steadfast  he  was  and  reliable,  the  soul 
of  honour.  But  she  was  a  woman,  difficult  to 
satisfy.  She  had  wanted  from  him  this  evening, 
this  moment,  something  of  that  she  won  so  easily 
from  Peter  Kennedy.  The  temperament  she  denied 
was  alight  and  clamorous. 


TWILIGHT  179 

"  Gabriel." 

"  Heart  of  my  innermost  heart." 

"  I  am  so  lonely  in  this  house." 

"  Sweetheart." 

"  So  lonely ;  it  is  haunted,  I  think.  I  can  never 
sleep,  I  lie  awake  .  .  .  for  hours.  Don't  go" 

Her  own  words  shook  and  shocked  her.  She  was 
still  and  supine  in  his  encompassing  arm.  There 
was  perhaps  a  relaxation  of  his  moral  fineness,  a 
faint  disintegration.  But  of  only  a  moment's  dura- 
tion, and  no  man  ever  held  a  woman  more  rever- 
ently or  more  tenderly. 

"  My  wife  that  will  be  ...  that  will  be  soon. 
How  I  adore  you." 

Their  hands  were  interlocked,  they  felt  the  dear 
sweetness  of  each  other's  breath;  their  hearts  were 
beating  fast. 

Silence  then,  a  long-drawn  silence. 

"  It  is  not  long  now.  I  am  counting  the  days, 
the  hours.  You  won't  say  again  I  disappoint  you, 
will  you?  You  will  bear  with  me?" 

She  clung  closer  to  him.  To-night  he  moved  her 
strangely. 

"  You  really  do  love  me  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  I  want  to  take  care  of  you  always.  My  dear, 
darling,  how  good  you  are  to  let  me  love  you !  One 
day  I  will  be  your  husband !  I  dare  hardly  say  the 
words.  Promise  me !  "  And  again  his  lips  sought 
hers.  "  Your  husband  and  your  lover  ..." 


180  TWILIGHT 

An  extraordinary  chill  came  upon  her.  She  could 
not  herself  say  what  had  happened,  the  effect,  but 
never  the  cause. 

She  disengaged  herself  from  him.  When  he  saw 
she  wanted  to  go  he  made  no  effort  to  hold 
her. 

"  It  is  very  late,  isn't  it  ?  "  He  made  no  answer, 
and  she  repeated  the  question.  "  It's  very  late,  isn't 
it?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  I  wish  you  would  look." 

He  took  out  his  watch. 

"  Barely  ten.    You  are  tired  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little." 

"  Margaret,  you  say  you  are  lonely  in  this  house, 
nervous.  Would  you  feel  better  if  I  patrolled  the 
garden,  if  you  felt  I  was  at  hand?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no.    I  didn't  know  what  I  was  saying." 

All  her  mood  had  changed. 

"  I  must  have  forgotten  Stevens  and  the  other 
maids." 

Then  she  moved  away  from  him,  over  to  the 
round  table  where  the  dead  lamp  still  gave  an 
occasional  flicker. 

She  tried  it  this  way  and  that,  but  there  was  no 
flame,  only  flicker. 

"  You  always  take  me  so  seriously,  misunder- 
stand me." 

He  came  near  her  again. 


TWILIGHT  181 

"  I  don't  think  I  misunderstand  you,"  he  said 
tenderly. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  answered  vaguely.  "  It  was 
my  fault." 

"  Fault !    You  have  not  a  fault !  " 

"  But  now — I  want  you  to  go." 

His  eyes  questioned  and  caressed  her. 

"  Until  next  week  then." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  but  her  lips  were  cold, 
unresponsive,  it  was  almost  an  apology  she  made : 

"  I  am  really  so  tired." 

When  he  had  gone,  lying  among  the  pillows  on 
the  sofa,  she  said  to  herself : 

"  Greek  roots !  He  is  supposed  to  be  more  learned 
in  Greek  roots  than  any  one  in  England.  But  the 
root  word  of  this  he  missed  entirely.  REACTION. 
That  is  the  root  word.  I  don't  know  what  came  over 
me.  Why  is  he  so  unlike  other  men  ?  What  if  such 
a  moment  had  come  to  me  with  Peter  Kennedy !  " 

She  smiled  faintly  all  by  herself  in  the  firelight. 
How  impossible  it  was  that  she  should  have  played 
like  this  with  Peter  Kennedy.  He  moved  her  no 
more  than  a  log  of  wood.  Then  she  was  suddenly 
ashamed,  her  cheeks  dyed  red  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  X 

SHE  was  surprised  at  what  had  happened  to  her, 
thought  a  great  deal  about  it,  magnifying  or  mini- 
mising it  according  to  her  mood.  But  in  a  way  the 
incident  drew  her  more  definitely  toward  Gabriel 
Stanton.  She  began  to  admit  she  was  in  love  with 
him,  to  do  as  he  had  bidden  her,  "  let  herself  go." 
In  imagination  at  least.  Had  she  been  a  psychologi- 
cal instead  of  an  epigrammatic  novelist,  she  would 
have  understood  herself  better.  To  me,  writing  her 
story  at  this  headlong  pace,  it  was  nevertheless  all 
quite  clear.  I  had  not  to  linger  to  find  out  why  she 
did  this  or  that,  what  spirit  moved  her.  I  knew  all 
the  time,  for  although  none  of  my  own  novels  ever 
had  the  success  of  "  The  Dangerous  Age  "  I  knew 
more  about  what  the  author  wrote  there  than  he  did 
himself,  much  more.  The  Dangerous  Age  comes 
to  a  woman  at  all  periods.  With  Margaret  Capel  it 
was  seven  years  after  her  marriage  and  over  six 
from  the  time  when  she  had  left  her  husband.  She 
was  impulsive,  and  for  all  her  introspective  egotism, 
most  pitifully  ignorant  of  herself  and  her  emotional 
capacity.  Fortunately  Gabriel  Stanton  was  almost 
as  ignorant  as  she.  But,  at  least  after  that  Sunday 
evening,  there  was  no  more  talk  of  friendship 

182 


TWILIGHT  183 

between  them.  There  was  coquetting  on  her  side 
and  some  obtuseness  on  his.  Rare  flashes  of  under- 
standing as  well,  and  on  her  part  deepening  feeling 
under  a  light  and  varying  surface. 

She  was  rarely  twice  alike,  often  she  merely 
acted,  thinking  of  herself  as  a  strange  character  in 
a  drama.  She  was  genuinely  uncertain  of  herself. 
Her  love  flamed  wild  sometimes.  Then  she  would 
pull  herself  up  and  remember  that  something  like 
this  she  had  felt  once  before,  and  it  had  proved  a 
will  o'  the  wisp  over  a  bog.  She  wanted  to  walk 
warily. 

"  Supposing  I  am  wrong  again  this  time  ?  "  she 
asked  him  once  with  wide  eyes. 

"  You  are  not.  This  is  real.  Trust  me,  trust 
yourself."  She  liked  to  nestle  in  the  shelter  of  his 
arm,  to  feel  his  lips  on  her  hair,  to  torment  and 
adore  him.  The  week-ends  seemed  very  short;  the 
week-days  long.  Week-days  during  which  she  was 
restless  and  excitable,  and  Peter  Kennedy  and  his 
bag  of  tricks,  medical  tricks,  often  in  request.  She 
was  very  capricious  with  Peter,  calling  him  ignorant, 
and  a  country  yokel.  As  a  companion  he  compared 
very  badly  with  Gabriel.  As  an  emotional  machine 
he  was  easier  to  play  upon.  She  spared  him  nothing, 
he  was  her  whipping-boy.  Watching  him  one 
noticed  that  he  grew  quieter,  improved  in  many  ways 
as  she  secured  more  and  more  mastery  over  him. 
When  there  were  scenes  now  they  were  of  her  and 


1 84  TWILIGHT 

not  of  his  making.  He  was  wax  in  her  hands,  plastic 
to  her  moulding.  Sometimes  she  was  sorry  for  him 
and  a  little  ashamed  of  herself.  Then  she  gave  him 
a  music  lesson  or  lectured  him  gravely  on  his  short- 
comings. But  from  first  to  last  he  was  nothing  to 
her  but  a  stop-gap.  His  devotion  had  the  smallest 
of  reward. 

The  weeks  went  by.  Gabriel  Stanton  coming  and 
going,  staying  always  at  the  local  hotel.  Ever  more 
secure  in  his  position  with  her,  but  never  taking 
advantage  of  it. 

"  He  is  naturally  of  a  cold  nature,"  she  argued. 
And  once  her  confidant  was  Peter  Kennedy  and  she 
compared  the  two  of  them.  This  was  in  early  days, 
before  her  treatment  of  Peter  had  subdued  him. 

"  What's  he  afraid  of  ?  "  Peter  asked  brusquely. 

"  Until  the  decree  has  been  made  absolute  I  am 
not  free." 

"  So  what  he  is  afraid  of  is  the  King's  Proctor?  " 

"  Don't." 

"  His  precious  respectability,  the  great  house  of 
Stanton." 

"  You  take  it  all  wrong,  you  don't  understand. 
How  should  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  I?    I  wish  I'd  half  his  chances." 

"  You  are  really  not  in  the  same  category  of  men. 
It  is  banal — I  have  never  fully  realised  the  value  of 
a  banal  phrase  before,  but  you  are  '  not  fit  to  wipe  the 
mud  off  his  shoes.'  " 


TWILIGHT  185 

"  Because  I  am  a  country  doctor." 

"  Because  you  are — Peter  Kennedy." 

She  knew  then  how  comparatively  thick-skinned 
he  was;  that  if  he  had  some  sense  or  senses  in 
e.vcelsis,  in  others  he  was  lacking,  altogether  lacking 
and  unconscious.  It  is  not  paradoxical  but  plain  that 
the  more  she  saw  of  Gabriel  Stanton  the  less  heed 
she  took  of  Peter  Kennedy's  freedom  of  speech  and 
ways.  The  two  men  were  as  apart  as  the  poles,  that 
they  both  adored  her  proved  nothing  but  her  un- 
doubted charm.  She  was  not  quite  looking  forward, 
like  Gabriel  Stanton,  through  the  "  decree  absolute  " 
to  marriage.  She  lived  in  the  immediate  present; 
in  the  Saturdays  to  Mondays  when  she  tortured 
Gabriel  Stanton  and  in  a  way  was  tortured  by  him. 
For  she  had  never  met  so  fine  a  brain,  nor  honour 
and  simplicity  so  clean  and  clear,  and  she  was  up- 
borne by  and  with  him.  And  the  Tuesdays  to  Fri- 
days she  had  attacks  or  crises  of  the  nerves  and 
Kennedy  alternately  doctored  and  clumsily  courted 
her. 

There  came  a  time  when  she  wrote  and  asked 
Gabriel  to  bring  his  sister  next  time  he  came,  and 
that  both  of  them  should  stay  in  the  house  with  her, 
at  Carbies.  It  was  clear,  if  it  had  not  been  put  into 
actual  words,  that  they  would  marry  as  soon  as  she 
was  free,  and  she  thought  it  would  please  him  that 
she  should  recognise  the  position. 


i86  TWILIGHT 

"  I  want  to  know  her.  Tell  her  I  am  a  friend  of 
yours  who  is  interested  in  Christian  Science,  then 
she  won't  think  it  strange  that  I  should  invite  her 
here."  She  was  not  frank  enough  to  say  "  since 
she  is  to  be  my  sister-in-law." . 

Gabriel,  nevertheless,  was  translated  when  the 
letter  came,  and  answered  it  rapturously.  The  invi- 
tation to  his  sister  seemed  to  admit  his  footing,  to 
make  the  future  more  definite  and  domestic. 

But  if  you  want  me  to  stay  away  I  will  stay  away. 
Remember  it  is  your  wishes  not  mine  that  count. 
I  tired  you,  perhaps?  Did  I  tire  you?  God  bless 
you! 

I  can  never  tell  you  half  that  is  in  my  heart. 
You  are  an  angel  of  goodness,  and  I  am  on  my  knees 
before  you  all  the  time.  I  will  tell  Anne  as  little 
as  possible  until  you  give  me  permission,  yet  I  am 
sure  she  must  guess  the  rest.  My  voice  alters  when 
I  speak  of  you,  although  I  try  to  keep  it  even 
and  calm.  I  went  to  her  when  I  got  your  letter. 
"  A  friend  of  mine  wants  to  know  you."  I  began 
as  absurdly  as  that.  She  looked  at  me  in  surprise, 
and  I  went  on  hurriedly,  "  She  wants  you  to  go 
down  with  me  to  her  house  in  Pineland  at  the  end 
of  the  week.  .  .  ." 

"You  have  been  there  before?"  she  asked  sus- 
piciously, sharply.  "  Is  that  where  you  have  been 
each  week  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  priding  myself  that  I  did 
not  go  on  to  tell  her  each  week  I  entered  Paradise, 
lingered  there  a  little  while.  She  began  to  question, 
probe  me.  Were  you  old,  young,  beautiful;  the 


TWILIGHT  187 

questions  poured  forth.  Somehow  or  other,  in  the 
end  these  questions  froze  and  silenced  me.  I  could 
not  tell  her,  you  were  you!  She  would  not  have 
understood.  Nor  was  I  able  to  satisfy  her  com- 
pletely on  any  point.  I  could  not  describe  you,  felt 
myself  stammering  like  a  schoolboy  over  the  colour 
of  your  hair,  your  eyes.  How  could  I  say  to  her 
'  This  sweet  lady  who  invites  you  to  make  her  ac- 
quaintance is  just  perfection,  no  more  nor  less;  all 
compound  of  fire  and  dew,  made  composite  and 
credible  with  genius  "  ?  As  for  giving  a  description 
of  you,  it  would  need  a  poet  and  a  painter  working 
together,  and  in  the  end  they  would  give  up  the 
task  in  despair.  I  did  not  tell  Anne  this. 

She  is  now  reviewing  her  wardrobe.  And  I 
...  I  am  reviewing  nothing  .  .  .  past  definite 
thought.  Do  you  know  that  when  I  left  you  on 
Sunday  I  feared  that  I  had  vexed  or  disappointed 
you  again?  You  seemed  to  me  a  little  cold — con- 
strained. Monday  and  Tuesday  I  have  examined 
and  cross-examined  myself — suffered.  My  whole 
life  is  yours — but  if  I  fail  to  please  you!  I  was  in 
a  hotel  in  the  country  once,  when  a  man  was 
brought  in  from  the  football  field,  very  badly  hurt. 
His  eyes  were  shut,  his  face  agonised ;  he  moaned, 
for  all  his  fortitude.  There  was  a  doctor  in  the 
crowd  that  accompanied  him,  who  gave  what 
seemed  to  me  a  strange  order :  "  Put  him  in  a  hot 
bath,  just  as  he  is,  don't  delay  a  moment;  don't 
wait  to  undress  him."  My  own  bath  was  just  pre- 
pared and  I  proffered  it.  They  lowered  him  in. 
He  was  a  fine  big  fellow,  but  suffering  beyond  self- 
restraint.  Within  a  minute  of  the  water  reaching 
him,  clothes  on  and  everything,  he  left  off  moaning. 


i88  TWILIGHT 

His  face  grew  calm.    "  My  God !    I  am  in  heaven !  " 
he  exclaimed. 

The  relief  must  have  been  exquisite.  I  thought 
of  the  incident  when  your  letter  came,  when  I  had 
submerged  myself  in  it.  I  had  forgotten  it  for 
years,  but  remembered  it  then.  I  too  had  passed 
in  one  moment  from  exquisite  agony  to  a  most 
wonderful  calm.  Dear  love,  how  can  I  thank  you! 
I  am  not  going  to  try.  Anne  and  I  will  come  by 
the  train  arriving  at  Pineland  at  4.52.  I  will  not 
ask  your  kindness  for  her;  I  see  you  diffusing  it. 
She  will  be  grateful,  and  the  form  her  gratitude 
will  take  will  be  the  endeavour  to  convert  you  to 
Christian  Science.  My  sweet  darling,  you  will 
listen  gravely,  patiently.  And  I  shall  know  it  will 
be  for  me.  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve  you, 
am  nothing,  only  your  worshipper.  Some  day  per- 
haps you  will  let  me  do  something  for  you.  Dear 
heart,  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,  however  I 
write." 

G.  S. 

Friday,  Margaret  decided  it  was  better  that  she 
should  entertain  her  guests  alone.  She  had  to  learn 
the  idiosyncrasies  of  this  poor  sister  of  her  lover's, 
to  acclimatise  herself  to  a  new  atmosphere  between 
herself  and  Gabriel.  She  invited  Peter  Kennedy  to 
dine  with  them  on  Saturday,  but  bade  him  not  to 
speak  lightly  of  Christian  Science. 

"  What's  the  game  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  I  think  it  is  probably  some  form  of  mesmerism ; 
I  don't  quite  know.  Anyway  Mr.  Stanton's  sister 


TWILIGHT  189 

is  an  invalid  and  thinks  Christian  Science  has  re- 
lieved her.  You  are  not  to  laugh  at  or  argue  with 
her." 

"  I  am  to  dine  here  and  talk  to  her,  I  suppose, 
whilst  you  and  that  fellow  ogle  and  make  love  to 
each  other."  She  turned  a  cold  shoulder  to  him. 

"  I  withdraw  my  invitation,  you  need  not  come 
at  all." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  come.  And  what  is  the  name 
of  the  thing?  Christian  Science?  I'll  get  it  up. 
You  know  I'd  do  anything  on  earth  you  asked  me, 
though  you  treat  me  like  a  dog." 

"  At  least  you  snatch  an  occasional  bone,"  she 
smiled  as  he  mumbled  her  hand. 

Margaret  sent  for  Mary  Baker  Eddy's  "  Science 
and  Health ;  with  a  Key  to  the  Scriptures,"  and  spent 
the  emptiest  two  hours  she  could  remember  in  trying 
to  master  the  viewpoint  of  the  book,  the  essential 
dogma.  Failing  completely  she  flung  it  to  Peter 
Kennedy,  who  read  aloud  to  her  sentence  after 
sentence  as  illuminative  as  these : 

r '  Destructive  electricity  is  not  the  offspring  of 
infinite  good.'    Who  the  devil  said  it  was?  " 

"  Hush,  go  on.  There  must  be  something  more 
in  it  than  that."  He  turned  to  the  title-page, 
"  '  Printed  and  published  at  Earlswood  '  ?  No,  my 
mistake — at  Boston.  '  Christian  Science  rationally 
explains  that  all  other  pathological  methods  are  the 
fruits  of  human  faith  in  matter,  in  the  -working,  not 


IQO  TWILIGHT 

of  spirit,  but  of  the  fleshly  mind,  which  must  yield 
to  Science.'  Don't  knit  your  brows.  What's  the 
good  of  swotting  at  it?  Let's  say  Abracadabra  to 
her  and  see  what  happens." 

"  What  an  indolent  man  you  are.  Is  that  the  way 
you  worked  at  your  examination  ?  " 

"  I  qualified." 

"  I  suppose  that  was  the  height  of  your  ambi- 
tion?" 

"  You  don't  give  a  man  much  encouragement  to 
be  ambitious." 

"  But  this  was  before  I  knew  you." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it.  I  never  lived  at  all  before 
you  knew  me." 

"Absurd  boy!" 

"  I'm  getting  on  for  thirty." 

"  You  can't  expect  me  to  remember  it  whilst  you 
behave  as  if  you  were  seventeen.  Take  the  book 
up  again,  let  us  give  it  an  honest  trial." 

He  read  on  obediently,  and  she  listened  with  a  real 
desire  for  instruction.  Then  all  at  once  she  put  her 
fingers  in  her  ears  and  called  a  halt. 

"  That  will  do.  Ring  for  tea,  I  can't  listen  to  any 
more  ..." 

He  went  on  nevertheless :  " '  Mind  is  not  the 
author  of  Matter/  I  say,  this  is  jolly  good.  You 
can  read  it  the  other  way  too.  'Matter  is  not  the 
author  of  mind.  There  is  no  matter  .  .  .  put 
matter  under  the  foot  of  mind/  Put  Mrs.  Eddy 


TWILIGHT  191 

under  the  foot  of  a  militant  suffragette.  Oh !  I  say 
.  .  .  listen  to  this  ..." 

"  No,  I  won't,  not  to  another  word.  Poor  Ga- 
briel ..."  He  threw  the  book  away. 

"  Always  that  damned  fellow !  "  he  said. 

When  Friday  came  and  the  house  had  been  swept 
and  garnished  Margaret  drove  to  the  station  to 
receive  her  guests.  The  room  prepared  for  Anne 
was  on  the  same  corridor  as  her  own,  facing  south, 
and  with  a  balcony.  Margaret  herself  had  seen  to 
all  the  little  details  for  her  comfort.  A  big  sofa 
and  easy-chair,  pen  and  ink  and  paper,  the  latest 
novel :  flowers  on  the  mantelpiece  and  dressing-table, 
a  filled  biscuit  box,  and  small  spirit  stand.  Then, 
more  slowly,  she  had  gone  into  the  little  suite  pre- 
pared for  Gabriel,  bedroom  and  bathroom,  no  bal- 
cony, but  a  wide  window.  She  only  stayed  a 
moment,  she  did  not  give  a  thought  to  his  little 
comforts.  She  was  out  of  the  room  again  quickly. 

She  arrived  late  at  the  station,  and  Gabriel  was 
already  on  the  platform;  he  never  had  the  same 
happy  certainty  as  the  first  time,  nor  knew  how  she 
would  greet  him.  The  first  impression  she  had  of 
Anne  was  of  a  little  old  woman,  bent-backed,  fussing 
about  the  luggage,  about  some  bag  after  which  she 
enquired  repeatedly  and  excitedly,  of  whose  safety 
she  could  not  be  assured  until  Gabriel  produced  it 
to  her  from  among  the  others  already  on  the  plat- 
form. 


192  TWILIGHT 

"  Shall  we  go  on  and  leave  him  to  follow  with  the 
luggage  ?  "  Margaret  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  I  couldn't  think  of  moving  until  it 
is  found.  So  tiresome  ..." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  tired  after  your  journey." 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  tired  since  I  have 
taken  up  Christian  Science.  You  know  we  are 
never  tired  unless  we  think  we  are,"  Anne  said, 
when  they  were  in  the  carriage,  bowling  along  the 
good  road  toward  the  reddening  glow  of  the  sunset. 
Margaret  and  Gabriel,  sitting  opposite,  but  not  fac- 
ing each  other — embarrassed,  shy  with  the  memory 
of  their  last  parting, — were  glad  of  this  interven- 
ing person  who  chattered  of  her  non-fatigue,  the 
essential  bag,  and  the  number  of  things  she  had  had 
to  see  to  before  she  left  home.  All  the  way  from 
Pineland  station  to  the  crunching  gravel  path  at 
Carbies  Anne  talked  and  they  made  a  feint  of  listen- 
ing to  her.  The  feeling  between  them  was  a  great 
height.  They  were  almost  glad  of  her  presence,  of 
her  fretting  small  talk.  Margaret  said  afterwards 
she  felt  damp  and  deluged  with  it,  properly  subdued. 
"  I  felt  as  if  I  had  come  all  out  of  curl,"  she  told 
him.  No  wonder  you  speak  so  little,  are  reserved." 

"  I  am  not  reserved  with  you,"  he  answered. 

"  I  think  sometimes  that  you  are." 

"  There  is  not  a  corner  or  cranny  of  my  mind  I 
should  not  wish  you  to  explore  if  it  interested  you," 
he  replied  passionately. 


TWILIGHT  193 

All  that  evening  Anne's  volubility  never  failed. 
She  was  of  the  type  of  woman,  domestic  and  fre- 
quent, who  can  talk  for  hours  without  succeeding  in 
saying  anything.  Most  of  it  seemed  simultaneous! 
Anne  Stanton,  who  was  ten  years  older  than  Gabriel 
and  had  an  idea  that  she  "  managed  "  him,  prided 
herself  also  on  her  good  social  quality  and  capacity 
for  carrying  off  a  situation.  She  thought  of  this 
invitation  and  introduction  to  the  young  lady  with 
whom  her  brother  had  evidently  fallen  in  love  as 
"  a  situation "  and  she  felt  herself  of  immense 
importance  in  it.  Gabriel  must  have  kept  his  secret 
better  than  he  knew.  She  believed  that  he  was  seek- 
ing her  opinion  of  his  choice,  that  the  decision,  if 
there  was  to  be  a  decision,  rested  with  her.  One 
must  do  her  the  justice  to  admit  that  she  did  not 
give  a  thought  to  any  possible  alteration  in  her  own 
position.  She  had  always  lived  with  Gabriel,  she 
knew  he  would  not  cast  her  off.  Conscious  of  her 
adaptability  she  had  already  said  to  him  on  the  way 
down: 

"  I  could  live  with  anybody,  any  nice  person,  and, 
of  course,  since  I  have  been  so  well  everything  is 
even  easier.  I  do  hope  I  shall  like  her.  ..." 

She  did  like  her,  very  much,  Margaret  saw  to 
that,  behaving  exquisitely  under  the  stimulus  of 
Gabriel's  worshipping  eyes;  listening  as  if  she  were 
absorbedly  interested  in  a  description  of  the  par- 
ticular Healer  who  had  Anne's  case  in  hand. 


194  TWILIGHT 

"  At  first  you  see  I  was  quite  strange  to  it,  I 
didn't  understand  completely.  Mr.  Roope  is  a  little 
deaf,  but  he  says  he  hears  as  much  as  he  wants  to 
...  so  beautifully  content  and  devout." 

"  Has  Mrs.  Roope  any  defect?  "  Margaret  got  a 
word  or  two  in  edgeways  before  the  end  of  the 
evening,  her  sense  of  humour  helping  her. 

"  She  has  a  sort  of  hysterical  affection.  She  goes 
'  Bupp,  bupp,'  like  a  turkey-cock  and  swells  at  the 
throat.  At  least  that  is  what  I  thought,  but  I  am 
very  backward  at  present.  Some  one  asked  her  the 
cause  once,  when  I  was  there,  and  she  said  she  had 
no  such  habit,  the  mistake  was  ours.  It  is  all  very 
bewildering." 

"  Are  there  any  other  members  of  the  family?  " 

"  Her  dear  mother !  Such  a  nice  creature,  and 
quite  a  believer ;  she  has  gall-stones." 

"Gall-stones!" 

"  Not  really,  you  know,  they  pass  with  prayer. 
She  looks  ill,  very  ill  sometimes,  but  of  course  that  is 
another  of  my  mistakes.  I  am  having  absent  treat- 
ment now." 

"  They  know  where  you  are  ?  "  Gabriel  asked, 
perhaps  a  little  anxiously. 

"  Oh !  dear,  yes.  I  am  never  out  of  touch  with 
them." 

After  she  had  retired  for  the  night,  for  notwith- 
standing her  immunity  from  fatigue  and  pain,  she 
retired  early,  explaining  that  she  wanted  to  put  her 


TWILIGHT  195 

things  in  order,  Gabriel  lingered  to  tell  Margaret 
again  what  an  angel  she  was,  and  of  his  gratitude  to 
her  for  the  way  she  was  receiving  and  making  much 
of  his  sister. 

"  I  like  doing  it,  she  interests  me.  I  suppose  she 
really  believes  in  it  all." 

"  I  think  so.  You  see  her  illness  is  partly  nervous, 
partly  her  spine,  but  still  to  a  certain  extent,  nervous. 
She  is  undoubtedly  better  since  she  had  this  hobby. 
The  only  thing  that  worries  me  is  this  family  of 
whom  she  speaks,  these  Roopes.  Of  course  they 
will  get  everything  she  has  out  of  her,  every  penny. 
If  it  only  stops  at  that  ..." 

"You  have  seen  them?" 

"  Not  yet.  I  hear  the  man  is  an  emaciated  idler, 
not  over-clean,  his  wife  has  evidently  a  bad  form  of 
St.  Vitus's  dance.  The  woman  leads  them  all,  the 
old  mother,  all  of  them.  I  expect  they  live  upon 
what  she  makes.  I've  heard  a  story  or  two  .  .  . 
I  had  not  realized  about  this  absent  treatment,  that 
Anne  tells  them  where  she  goes.  You  don't  mind  ?  " 

"Why  should  I  mind?" 

"  She  may  have  told  them  I  come  here    ..." 

"  Oh !  that !    I  had  forgotten." 

It  was  true,  she  had  forgotten  that  she  must  walk 
circumspectly.  She  had  spoken  of  and  forgotten  it. 
Now  she  remembered,  because  he  reminded  her; 
reddened  and  wished  she  had  not  invited  Anne. 
Anne,  with  her  undesirable  acquaintances  and  me- 


196  TWILIGHT 

andering  talk,  who  would  keep  her  and  Gabriel  com- 
pany on  their  walks  and  drives  for  the  next  two 
days. 

But  Providence,  or  a  broken  chain  in  the  sequence 
of  the  Roope  Christian  Science  treatment,  came  to 
her  aid.  On  Saturday  Anne  was  prostrated  with 
headache. 

"  She  has  never  been  able  to  bear  a  railway 
journey." 

"  Does  she  explain?  " 

"  I  went  in  to  see  her.  '  If  only  I  had  faith 
enough,'  she  moaned,  and  asked  me  to  send  Mrs. 
Roope  a  telegram.  I  persuaded  her  to  five  grains 
of  aspirin,  but  I  could  see  she  felt  very  guilty  about 
it.  She  will  sleep  until  the  afternoon." 

"  We  can  leave  her?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  doubt  if  she  will  be  well  awake  by 
dinner,  certainly  not  before." 

"  Let  us  get  away  from  here,  from  Carbies  and 
Pineland  ..." 

"  Right  to  the  other  side  of  the  island.  We  could 
lunch  at  Ryde.  I'll  get  a  car." 

Nothing  suited  either  of  them  so  well  today  as  a 
long  silent  drive.  The  car  went  too  fast  for  them  to 
talk.  Retrospect  or  the  comparison  of  notes  was 
practically  impossible.  They  sat  side  by  side,  smil- 
ing rarely,  one  at  the  other  as  the  spring  burst  into 
life  around  them.  The  tall  hedges  were  full  of  may 
blossom,  with  here  and  there  a  flowering  currant, 


TWILIGHT  197 

the  trees  wore  their  coronal  of  young  green  leaves, 
great  clumps  of  primroses  succeeded  the  yellow 
gorse  of  which  they  had  tired,  fields  were  already 
green  with  the  autumn-sown  corn,  there  was  nothing 
to  remind  them  of  Carbies.  For  a  long  time  the 
sea  was  out  of  sight.  Never  had  they  been  happier 
together,  for  all  they  spoke  so  little. 

At  Ryde  he  played  the  host  to  her,  and  she  sat 
on  the  verandah  whilst  he  went  in  to  give  his  orders. 
A  few  ships  were  aride  in  the  bay,  but  the  scene  was 
very  different  from  what  she  had  ever  seen  it 
before,  in  Regatta  time,  when  it  was  gay  with  bunt- 
ing and  familiar  faces.  Today  they  had  it  to  them- 
selves, the  hotel  she  only  knew  as  overcrowded,  and 
the  view  of  the  town,  so  strangely  quiet.  And  excel- 
lent was  the  luncheon  served  to  them.  A  lobster 
mayonnaise  and  a  fillet  steak,  a  pie  of  early  goose- 
berries, which  nevertheless  Margaret  declared  were 
bottled.  They  spoke  of  other  meals  they  had  had 
together,  of  one  in  the  British  Museum  in  particular. 
On  this  occasion  it  pleased  her  to  declare  that  boiled 
cod,  not  crimped,  but  flabby  and  served  with  luke- 
warm egg  sauce,  was  the  most  ambrosial  food  she 
knew. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  enjoyed  a  meal  so  much," 
she  said  reflectively. 

r<  You  wrote  and  reproached  me  for  it."  His  eyes 
caressed  and  forgave  her  for  it. 

"Impossible!" 


198  TWILIGHT 

"  You  did  indeed.  I  can  produce  your  plaint  in 
your  own  handwriting." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  keep  my  let- 
ters!" 

"  I  would  rather  part  with  my  Elzevirs." 

This  was  the  only  time  they  approached  sentiment, 
approached  and  sheered  off.  There  was  something 
between  them,  in  wait  for  them,  at  which  at  that 
moment  neither  wished  to  look. 

The  sun  sparkled  on  the  waters,  a  boatload  of 
smart  young  naval  officers  put  off  from  a  strange 
yacht  in  the  bay.  Gabriel  and  Margaret  wished  that 
their  landing  at  the  pier  should  synchronise  with 
their  own  departure.  Nothing  was  to  break  the 
unusualness  of  their  solitude  in  this  whilom  crowded 
place.  He  showed  his  tenderness  in  the  way  he 
cloaked  her,  tucked  the  rugs  about  her,  not  in  any 
spoken  word.  She  felt  it  subtly  about  her,  and 
glowed  in  it,  most  amazingly  content. 

When  they  got  back  to  Carbies,  after  having 
satisfied  herself  that  her  guest  had  recovered  and 
would  join  them  at  dinner,  she  astonished  her  maid 
by  demanding  an  evening  toilette.  She  wore  a  gown 
of  grey  and  silver  brocade,  very  stiff  and  Eliza- 
bethan, a  chain  of  uncut  cabochon  emeralds  hung 
round  her  neck,  and  a  stomacher  of  the  same  deco- 
rated her  corsage.  The  mauve  osprey  upstanding  in 
her  hair  was  clasped  by  a  similar  encrusted  jewel. 
She  carried  herself  regally.  Had  she  not  come  into 


TWILIGHT  199 

her  woman's  Kingdom?  Tonight  she  meant  that 
he  should  see  what  he  had  won. 

It  was  a  strange  evening,  nevertheless,  and  they 
were  a  strangely  assorted  quartette.  There  was  a 
little  glow  of  colour  in  Margaret's  cheeks,  such  as 
Peter  Kennedy  had  never  seen  there  before,  her  eyes 
shone  like  stars,  and  she  wore  this  regal  toilette. 
Peter  was  introduced  to  Anne.  Anne,  yellowish  and 
subdued  after  the  migraine,  dressed  in  brown  taffeta, 
opening  at  the  wizened  throat  to  display  a  locket 
of  seed  pearls  on  a  gold  chain ;  her  brown  toupee  had 
slipped  a  little  and  discovered  a  few  grey  hairs,  her 
hands,  covered  with  inexpensive  rings,  showed  claw- 
like  and  tremulous.  Margaret's  unringed  hands,  so 
pale  and  small,  were  like  Japanese  flowers.  Peter 
had  to  take  in  Anne.  Gabriel  gave  his  arm  to 
Margaret.  The  poverty  of  the  dining-room  furni- 
ture was  out  of  the  circle  of  the  white  spread  table, 
where  the  suspended  lamp  shone  on  fine  silver  and 
glass.  Flowers  came  constantly  to  Carbies  from 
London.  Tonight  red  roses  scented  the  room; 
hothouse  roses,  blooming  before  their  time,  on 
long  thornless  stems.  Margaret  drew  a  vase  toward 
her,  exclaimed  at  the  wealth  of  perfume. 

"  I  only  hope  they  won't  make  your  headache 
worse." 

Anne  tried  to  insist  she  had  no  headache.  Peter 
advised  a  glass  of  champagne.  She  began  to  tell 
him  something  of  her  new-found  panacea  for  all  ills, 


200  TWILIGHT 

but  ceased  upon  finding  he  was  what  she  called  a 
"  medical  man,"  one  of  the  enemies  of  their  creed. 
Before  the  dinner  had  passed  the  soup  stage  he 
hardly  made  a  pretence  of  listening  to  her.  Both 
men  were  absorbed  in  this  regal  Margaret.  All  her 
graciousness  was  for  Gabriel,  but  she  found  occasion 
now  and  again  for  a  smile  and  a  word  for  Peter. 
Poor  Peter !  guest  at  this  high  feast  where  there  was 
no  food  for  him.  But  he  made  the  most  of  the  ma- 
terial provender,  and  proved  fortunately  to  be  an 
excellent  trencherman.  Otherwise  Margaret's  good 
cook  had  exerted  herself  in  vain.  For  none  of  them 
had  appetite  but  Peter;  Margaret  because  she 
talked  too  much,  and  Gabriel  because  he  could  do 
nothing  but  listen;  Anne  because  she  was  feeling 
the  after-effects,  and  regretting  she  had  yielded  to 
the  temptation  of  the  aspirin. 

The  men  sat  together  but  a  short  time  after  the 
ladies  left  them.  They  had  one  subject  in  common 
of  which  neither  wished  to  speak.  Gabriel  smoked 
only  a  cigarette,  Peter  praised  the  port,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  exceptionally  bad;  the  weather  was  a 
topic  that  drew  blank.  Fortunately  they  struck  upon 
Pineland  and  its  health-giving  qualities,  upon  which 
both  were  enthusiastic.  Peter  Kennedy  was  in 
Gabriel's  secret,  but  Gabriel  had  no  intuition  of 
his. 

"  Mrs.  Capel  seems  to  have  derived  great  benefit 
from  her  stay.  Probably  from  your  treatment  also," 


TWILIGHT  201 

he  said  courteously.  His  thoughts  were  so  full  of 
her;  how  could  he  speak  of  anything  else? 

"  I  can't  do  much  for  her,"  Peter  said  gloomily. 
He  had  had  the  greater  part  of  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, and  the  port  on  the  top  of  it.  "  She  doesn't 
do  a  thing  I  tell  her.  She  doesn't  care  whether  I'm 
dead  or  alive." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  wrong,"  Gabriel  reassured 
him  earnestly.  "  She  has,  I  am  sure,  the  highest 
possible  opinion  of  your  skill.  She  carries  out  your 
regime  as  far  as  possible.  You  think  she  should 
rest  more  ?  " 

"  She  should  do  nothing  but  rest." 

"But  with  an  active  mind?" 

"  It  is  not  only  her  mind  that  is  active." 

"  You  mean  the  piano-playing,  writing    ..." 

"  She  ought  just  to  vegetate.  She  has  a  weak 
heart,  one  of  the  valves  ..." 

Gabriel  rose  hurriedly,  it  was  not  possible  for  him 
to  listen  to  a  description  of  his  beloved's  physical  ail- 
ments. He  was  shocked  with  Peter  for  wishing  to 
tell  him,  genuinely  shocked.  It  was  a  breach  of 
professional  etiquette,  of  good  manners.  They 
arrived  upstairs  in  the  music  room  completely  out 
of  tune. 

"  He  wouldn't  even  listen  when  I  told  him  how 
seedy  you  were,  that  you  ought  to  be  kept  quiet. 
Selfish  owl.  You've  been  out  with  him  all  day." 

"  I  rested  for  half  an  hour  before  dinner.    Do  I 


202  TWILIGHT 

look  tired  or  washed  out  ?  "  She  turned  a  radiant 
face  to  Peter  for  investigation.  "  I  am  going  to 
play  to  you  presently,  when  you  will  see  if  I  am 
without  power." 

"Power!  Who  said  you  were  without  that? 
You'd  have  power  over  the  devil  tonight." 

"  Or  over  my  eccentric  physician."  She  smiled 
at  him.  "  Have  you  been  behaving  yourself  prettily 
downstairs  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  told  him  what  I  think  of  him,  if  that's 
what  you  mean !  " 

"Will  you  play  first?"  she  asked  him.  Peter 
Kennedy  was  a  genuine  music  lover,  and  he  played 
well,  very  much  better  since  Margaret  Capel  had 
come  to  Pineland.  He  sang  also,  but  this  accom- 
plishment Margaret  would  never  let  him  display. 
She  had  no  use  for  a  man's  singing  since  James 
Capel  had  lured  her  with  his  love  songs. 

Gabriel  was  talking  to  his  sister  whilst  Margaret 
and  Peter  had  this  little  conversation.  He  was 
persuading  her  to  an  early  retreat. 

"  Did  you  send  my  telegram  to  Mrs.  Roope  ?  I 
am  sure  I  am  getting  better,  I  have  been  thinking  so 
all  the  evening.  She  must  have  been  treating  me." 

"  I  am  sure,  but  are  not  the  vibrations  stronger 
between  you  if  you  are  alone,  if  there  is  nothing  to 
disturb  your  thoughts?  ..."  Even  Gabriel 
Stanton  could  be  disingenuous  when  the  occasion 
demanded.  She  hesitated. 


TWILIGHT  203 

"  Wouldn't  Mrs.  Capel  be  offended  ?  One  owes 
something  to  one's  hostess.  She  has  promised  to 
play.  You  told  me  she  played  beautifully.  I  do 
think  she  is  very  sweet.  But,  Gabriel,  have  you 
thought  of  the  flat?  I  shouldn't  like  to  give  it  up. 
The  gravel  soil  and  air  from  the  heath,  and  every- 
thing. Isn't  she  .  .  .  isn't  she  ..." 

"  A  size  too  big  for  it  ?  "  He  finished  her  sen- 
tence for  her. 

"  Too  grand,  I  meant." 

"  Yes,  too  grand.  Of  course  she  is  too  grand." 
He  turned  to  look  at  her.  This  time  their  eloquent 
eyes  met.  She  indicated  the  piano  stool  to  Peter 
Kennedy  and  came  swiftly  to  the  brother  and  sister. 

"  Has  he  made  you  comfortable  ?  "  She  adjusted 
the  pillows,  and  stole  a  glance  at  Gabriel.  Whenever 
she  looked  at  him  it  seemed  that  his  eyes  were  upon 
her.  They  were  extraordinarily  conscious  of  each 
other,  acting  a  little  because  Anne  and  Peter  were 
there.  Peter  Kennedy,  over  on  the  music  stool, 
struck  a  chord  or  two,  as  if  to  lure  her  back. 

"  One  can  always  listen  better  when  one  is  com- 
fortable," she  said  to  Anne.  Then  went  over  to 
the  fender  stool,  where  Gabriel  joined  her,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

"  Isn't  it  too  hot  for  you  ?  "  she  asked  him  inno- 
cently. 

"  It  might  have  been,"  he  answered,  smiling, 
"  only  the  fire  is  out." 


204  TWILIGHT 

"  Is  it?  "  she  turned  to  look.  "  I  had  not  noticed 
it.  Hush !  He  is  going  to  play  the  Berceuse.  You 
haven't  heard  him  before,  have  you  ?  He  plays  quite 
well." 

So  they  sat  there  together  whilst  Peter  Kennedy 
played,  and  every  now  and  then  Anne  said  from  the 
sofa: 

"  How  delicious !  Thank  you  ever  so  much. 
What  was  it  ?  I  thought  I  knew  the  piece." 

Peter  got  up  from  the  piano  before  Gabriel  and 
Margaret  had  tired  of  sitting  side  by  side  on  the 
fender  stool,  or  Anne  of  ejaculating  her  little  com- 
plimentary, grateful,  or  enquiring  phrases. 

"  I  suppose  you've  had  enough  of  it,"  he  said 
abruptly  to  Margaret. 

"  No,  I  haven't.  You  could  have  gone  on  for 
another  hour." 

"  I  daresay." 

Gabriel  thought  his  manner  singularly  abrupt, 
almost  rude.  This  was  only  the  second  or  third 
time  he  had  met  Margaret's  medical  attendant,  and 
he  was  not  at  all  favourably  impressed  by  him.  As 
for  Peter : 

"  Damned  dry  stick,"  he  said  to  Margaret,  when 
he  had  persuaded  her  to  the  redemption  of  her 
promise,  and  was  leading  her  to  the  piano. 

"  What  a  boor  you  really  are,  notwithstanding 
your  playing,"  she  answered  calmly,  adjusting  the 


TWILIGHT  205 

candles,  the  height  of  the  piano  stool,  looking  out 
some  music.  "  I  really  thought  you  were  going  to 
behave  well  tonight.  And  not  a  word  about  Chris- 
tian Science,"  she  chaffed  him  gently,  "  after  all  the 
coaching." 

She  too  tried  a  few  chords. 

"  I  say,  don't  you  play  too  long  tonight.  Don't 
you  go  overdoing  it."  Her  chaff  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  him,  he  was  used  to  it.  But  he  was 
struck  by  some  alteration  or  intensification  of  her 
brilliancy.  How  could  he  know  the  secret  of  it? 
The  love  of  which  he  was  capable  gave  him  no  key 
to  the  spell  that  was  on  those  two  tonight. 

Anne  slipped  off  to  bed  presently,  at  Gabriel's 
whispered  encouragement,  and  Margaret  went  on 
playing  to  the  two  men.  Peter  commented  some- 
times, asked  for  this  or  the  other,  went  over  and 
stood  by  her  side,  turning  over  the  music,  sat  down 
beside  her  now  and  again.  Gabriel  remained  on  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  Anne  had  vacated,  and  listened. 
Therefore  it  was  Peter  who  caught  her  when  she 
fell  forward  with  a  little  sigh  or  moan,  Peter  who 
caught  her  up  in  his  arms  and  strode  over  with  her 
to  the  sofa.  Gabriel  would  have  taken  her  from 
him,  but  Peter  issued  impatient  orders. 

"  Open  the  window,  pull  the  blind  up,  let  us  have 
as  much  air  as  possible.  Ring  for  her  maid,  ring 
like  blazes  ...  she  has  only  fainted.  Within  a 
minute  she  was  sitting  up,  radiantly  white,  but  with 


206  TWILIGHT 

shadows  round  her  pale  mouth  and  deep  under  her 
eyes. 

"  It  is  nothing,  it  is  only  a  touch  of  faintness. 
Not  an  attack.  Gabriel,  you  were  not  frightened  ?  " 
she  asked,  and  put  out  her  hand  to  him. 

Peter  said  something  inarticulate  and  got  up  from 
where  he  had  been  kneeling  beside  her. 

"  I'll  get  you  some  brandy." 

"  Shall  I  go?  "  Gabriel  asked,  but  was  holding  her 
hand. 

"  No,  no.  You  stay.  Dr.  Kennedy  knows  where 
it  is." 

Gabriel  knelt  beside  her  now. 

"  Were  you  frightened  ?  "  she  asked,  still  a  little 
faintly. 

"  Love,  lover,  sweet,  my  heart  was  shaken  with 
terror." 

"  It  is  really  nothing.  We  have  had  such  a  won- 
derful day  I  was  trying  to  play  it  all  to  you.  Then 
the  glory  spread,  brightened,  overwhelmed  me  ..." 

"Beloved!" 

"  Hush !  he  is  coming  back.  You  won't  believe 
anything  he  tells  you  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  tell  me  you  are  not  really  ill?  Oh! 
my  darling!  I  could  not  bear  it  if  you  were  to 
suffer.  Let  me  get  some  one  else  ..." 

Peter  was  back  with  the  brandy,  a  measured  dose, 
he  brushed  Gabriel  aside  as  if  now  at  least  he  had 
the  mastery  of  the  position.  For  all  Gabriel's  pre- 


TWILIGHT  207 

occupation  with  Margaret,  Dr.  Kennedy  managed 
to  attract  from  him  a  wondering  moment  of  atten- 
tion. Need  he  have  knelt  to  administer  the  draught  ? 
What  was  it  he  was  murmuring  ?  Whatever  it  was 
Margaret  was  unwilling  to  hear.  She  leaned  back, 
closing  her  eyes.  When  the  maid  came,  torn  reluc- 
tantly from  her  supper,  she  was  able,  nevertheless,  to 
reassure  her. 

"  Nothing  of  consequence,  Stevens,  not  an  attack. 
I  am  going  across  to  my  bedroom.  One  of  you  will 
lend  me  an  arm,"  they  were  both  in  readiness,  "  or 
both."  She  took  an  arm  of  one  and  an  arm  of  the 
other,  smiled  in  both  their  faces.  "  What  a  way  to 
wind  up  our  little  evening !  You  will  have  to  forgive 
me,  entertain  each  other." 

"  I'll  come  in  again  and  see  you  when  you  are 
comfortable,"  the  doctor  said,  a  little  defiantly, 
Gabriel  thought. 

"  No,  don't  wait.  Not  on  any  account.  Stevens 
knows  everything  to  do  for  me.  Show  Mr.  Stan- 
ton  where  the  cigars  are." 

They  were  not  in  good  humour  when  they  left  her. 

"  I  don't  smoke  cigars,"  Gabriel  said  abruptly 
when  Dr.  Kennedy  made  a  feint  of  carrying  out  her 
wishes.  Peter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  She  told  me  to  find  them  for  you." 

"  Has  she  had  attacks  like  this  before  ?  "  Gabriel 
asked,  after  a  pause.  Peter  answered  gloomily  : 

"  And  will  again  if  she  is  allowed  to  overtire  her- 


208  TWILIGHT 

self  by  driving  for  hours  in  the  sun,  and  then 
encouraged  to  sit  through  a  long  dinner,  talking  all 
the  time." 

"  She  ought  not  to  have  played  ? "  Peter 
Kennedy  threw  himself  on  to  the  sofa,  desecrating 
it,  bringing  an  angry  flush  to  Gabriel's  brow.  But 
when  he  groaned  and  said : 

"  If  one  could  only  do  anything  for  her!  " 
Gabriel  forgave  him  in  that  instant.    Gabriel  had 
lived  all  his  life  with  an  invalid.     Attacks  of  hys- 
teria and  faintness  had  been  his  daily  menu  for 
years. 

"  But  surely  an  attack  of  faintness  is  not  very 
unusual  or  alarming  ?    My  sister  often  faints  ..." 
"  She  isn't  Margaret  Capel,  is  she  ?  " 
"  You    .    .    .    you  knew  Mrs.  Capel  before  she 
came  to  Carbies  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't.  But  I  know  her  now,  don't  I  ?  " 
Gabriel  was  silent.  He  had  seen  a  great  many 
doctors  too,  before  the  Christian  Scientists  had 
broken  their  influence,  but  such  a  one  as  this  was 
new  to  him.  Margaret  was  so  sacred  and  special 
to  him  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  think.  But 
Peter  gave  him  little  time  for  thinking.  He  fixed 
a  gloomy  eye  upon  him  and  said : 

"  A  man's  a  man,  you  know,  although  he's  noth- 
ing but  a  country  practitioner."  Gabriel  was  acutely 
annoyed,  a  little  shocked,  most  supremely  uncom- 
fortable. 


TWILIGHT  209 

"  But  ought  you  to  go  on  attending  her  ?  "  he  got 
out. 

"  I  shan't  do  her  any  harm,  shall  I,  because  I  am 
madly  in  love  with  her,  because  I  could  kiss  the 
ground  she  walks  on,  because  I'd  give  my  life  for 
hers  and  day?"  Gabriel's  face  might  have  been 
carved.  "  She  treats  me  like  a  dog.  ..." 

Gabriel  made  a  gesture  of  dissent,  Margaret  could 
not  treat  any  one  like  a  dog. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  does,  she  says  I'm  not  fit  to  wipe 
the  mud  off  your  shoes.  ..." 

Then  Margaret  knew.  He  was  a  little  stunned 
and  taken  by  surprise  to  think  Margaret  knew  her 
doctor  was  in  love  with  her,  knew  and  had  kept  him 
in  attendance.  But  of  course  she  was  right,  every- 
thing she  did  was  right.  She  had  not  taken  the 
matter  seriously. 

"  I  suppose  I'd  better  go."  Peter  dropped  his  feet 
to  the  ground,  rose  slowly.  "  She  won't  see  me 
again  if  she  says  she  won't.  She's  got  her  bromide. 
You  might  ring  me  up  in  the  morning  and  tell  me 
how  she  is,  if  she  wants  me  to  come  round.  That's 
not  too  much  to  ask,  is  it  ?  "  he  said  savagely. 

"  Not  at  all,"  Gabriel  answered  coldly.  "  I 
should  of  course  do  anything  she  wished."  Peter 
paused  a  moment  at  the  door. 

"  I  say,  you're  not  going  to  try  and  put  her  off  me, 
are  you?  Just  because  I've  let  myself  go  to  you?  " 

"  I  am  not  authorised  to  interfere  in  Mrs.  Capel's 


210  TWILIGHT 

affairs."  Gabriel  was  quite  himself  again  and  very 
stiff. 

"  But  I  understand  you  will  be." 

"  I  would  rather  not  discuss  the  future  with  you." 

"  Then  you  do  intend  to  try  and  out  me  ?  " 

Gabriel  was  suddenly  a  little  sorry  for  him,  he 
looked  so  desperately  miserable  and  anxious,  and 
after  all  he,  Peter  Kennedy,  was  leaving  the  house. 
Gabriel  was  remaining,  sleeping  under  the  same  roof. 

"  I  will  see  her  maid  if  possible.  You  shall  be 
called  up  if  you  are  needed.  Nothing  but  her  well- 
being,  her  own  wish  will  be  thought  of  ...  Any- 
way you  shall  have  a  report." 

"  As  her  doctor  she  trusts  me.  I  can  ease  her 
symptoms."  It  was  almost  a  plea.  "  She  need  not 
suffer." 

"  Of  course  you  will  be  sent  for.  They  have  your 
telephone  number?  " 

Peter  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-night.  You're  a  good  fellow.  She  is 
quite  right.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  told 
you  how  it  is  with  me  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,"  Gabriel  answered, 
intending  to  be  courteous. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SUNDAY  morning  the  church  bells  were  chiming 
against  the  blue  sky  in  the  clear  air.  Both  invalids 
were  better.  The  reports  Gabriel  received  whilst 
he  sat  over  his  solitary  breakfast  were  to  the  effect 
that  Miss  Stanton  had  slept  well  and  was  without 
headache,  she  sent  word  also  of  her  intention  to  go 
to  church  if  it  were  possible.  Stevens  herself  told 
him  that  Mrs.  Capel  would  be  coming  down  at 
eleven  o'clock  or  half -past,  having  had  an  excellent 
night.  He  was  not  to  stay  in  for  her. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  far  off  is  the  nearest 
church  ?  " 

Stevens  was  fully  informed  on  the  matter.  There 
were  two  almost  within  equal  distance. 

"  Not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  twenty 
minutes  away.  The  nearest  is  the  'ighest.  ..." 
Stevens  was  a  typical  English  maid,  secretly  devoted 
to  her  mistress,  well  up  in  her  duties  but  with  a 
perpetual  grievance  or  list  of  grievances.  "  Not 
that  I  get  there  myself,  not  on  Sunday  mornings, 
since  I've  been  here." 

Gabriel  was  sympathetic.  Contempt,  however, 
was  thrown  upon  his  suggestion  of  the  afternoon. 

211 


212  TWILIGHT 

"  Children's  services  and  such-like,  no  thank 
you!" 

As  for  the  evenings  Stevens  said  "  they  was 
mostly  hymns."  He  detained  her  for  a  few  minutes, 
for  was  she  not  Margaret's  confidential  maid,  com- 
pensating her,  too,  for  her  lack  of  religious  privi- 
leges. He  told  her  to  tell  her  mistress  he  would  walk 
to  church  with  his  sister  and  then  return,  that  he 
looked  forward  to  seeing  her  if  she  were  really 
better.  Otherwise  she  was  not  to  think  of 
rising. 

"  She'll  get  up  right  enough.  I'm  to  have  her 
bath  ready  at  'alf-past  ten." 

When  Anne  came  down  he  walked  with  her  over 
the  commonland,  bright  with  gorse  and  broom  that 
lay  between  Carbies  and  the  higher  of  the  two 
churches,  heard  how  Anne  had  lain  awake  and  then 
how  she  had  slept,  sure  of  the  intervention  of 
Mrs.  Roope.  Her  headache  had  completely  disap- 
peared. 

"  You  did  send  that  telegram,  didn't  you?  " 

Gabriel  assured  her  that  the  telegram  had  been 
duly  despatched. 

"  She  must  have  started  on  me  at  once.  She  is  a 
good  creature.  I  wish  you  were  more  sympathetic 
to  it.  You've  never  once  been  with  me  to  a  meet- 
ing." 

"  But  I  have  not  put  anything  in  the  way  of  your 
going." 


TWILIGHT  213 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  know  how  good  you  are.  Which 
reminds  me,  Gabriel,  about  Mrs.  Capel.  We  must 
talk  things  over  when  we  get  home.  You  must 
not  do  anything  in  a  hurry.  I  heard  about  her 
fainting  away  last  night.  It  is  not  only  that  she 
is  a  widow,  and  terribly  delicate,  her  maid  tells 
me,  but  she  takes  no  care  of  herself,  none  at  all. 
.  .  .  What  a  rate  you  are  walking  at;  I'm  sure  we 
have  plenty  of  time,  the  bells  are  still  going.  I  can't 
keep  up  with  you."  He  slowed  down.  "  As  I  was 
saying,  I  shouldn't  like  you  to  be  more  particular 
with  her  until  we  have  talked  things  over  together. 
Of  course  as  far  as  her  delicacy  is  concerned,  we 
might  persuade  her  to  see  Mrs.  Roope." 

"  I  have  already  asked  Mrs.  Capel  if  she  will  do 
me  the  honour  of  becoming  my  wife,"  her  brother 
said  in  a  tone  she  found  curious,  peculiar,  not  at 
all  like  himself. 

"  Oh,  dear !  how  tiresome !  You  really  are  so 
impulsive.  Of  course  I  like  her  very  much,  very 
much  indeed,  but  there  are  so  many  things  to  be 
thought  of.  How  long  has  her  husband  been  dead  ? 
You  know  she  is  more  than  half  an  American,  she 
told  me  so  herself,  and  such  strange  things  do  hap- 
pen with  American  husbands." 

"  Mrs.  Capel  divorced  her  husband !  "  He  spoke 
quickly,  abruptly,  hurrying  her  on  toward  the 
church,  through  the  gate  and  up  the  path  where  a 
little  stream  of  people  was  already  before  them, 


214  TWILIGHT 

people  carrying  prayer-books,  or  holding  by  the 
hand  a  stiffly  dressed  unwilling  child;  one  or  two 
women  with  elderly  husbands. 

Anne  gave  a  little  subdued  scream  when  Gabriel 
told  her  that  Mrs.  Capel  had  divorced  her  husband, 
a  little  gasp. 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  "  It  was  impossible  to  say 
more  under  the  circumstances,  she  could  not  make 
a  scene  here. 

"  You  will  be  able  to  find  your  way  back  all 
right  ?  "  he  asked  her.  The  bells  were  clashing  now 
almost  above  their  heads,  clashing  slowly  to  the 
finish. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  standing 
on  my  head  or  my  heels." 

"  You  will  be  all  right  when  you  are  inside." 

"  I  haven't  even  got  my  smelling-salts  with  me, 
I  promised  to  leave  off  carrying  them."  She  was 
almost  crying  with  agitation. 

"  You  will  be  all  right,"  he  said  again.  He  waited 
until  she  had  gone  through  the  door,  the  little  bent 
figure  in  its  new  coat  and  skirt  and  Victorian  hat 
tied  under  the  chin.  Then  he  was  free  to  return 
on  swift  feet  to  Carbies  to  await  Margaret's  coming. 
He  walked  so  swiftly  that  although  it  had  taken 
them  twenty  minutes  to  get  there  he  was  barely  ten 
in  coming  back.  He  hurried  faster  when  he  saw 
there  was  a  figure  at  the  gate. 

"  It  is  too  fine  to  be  indoors  this  morning.     I 


TWILIGHT  215 

am  going  down  to  the  sea.  I  yearn  for  the  sea  this 
morning.  Go  up  to  the  house,  will  you?  Fetch  a 
cushion  or  so.  Then  we  can  be  luxurious."  He 
executed  his  commission  quickly,  and  when  he  came 
up  to  her  again  had  not  only  a  cushion  but  a  rug 
on  his  arm.  She  said  quickly : 

"  What  a  wonderful  morning !  Isn't  it  a  God- 
given  morning?  " 

"  All  mornings  are  wonderful  and  God-given  that 
bring  me  to  you,"  he  answered  little  less  soberly, 
walking  by  her  side.  "  Won't  you  lean  a  little  on 
me,  take  my  arm  ?  " 

"Do  I  look  decrepit?"  She  laughed,  walking 
on  light  feet.  Spring  was  everywhere,  in  the  soft 
air,  and  the  throats  of  courting  birds,  in  the  breeze 
and  both  their  hearts.  They  went  down  to  the  sea 
and  he  arranged  the  cushions  against  that  very  rock 
behind  which  I  had  once  sat  and  heard  them  talk. 
She  said  now  she  must  face  the  sea,  the  winds  that 
blew  from  it. 

"  Not  too  cold  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  Not  too  anything.  You  may  sit  on  the  rug  too, 
there  is  a  bit  to  spare  for  you.  What  book  have 
you  in  your  pocket?  " 

"  No  book  today.    I  carried  Anne's  prayer-book." 

"'Science  and  Health'?" 

She  was  full  of  merriment  and  laughter. 

"  No ;  the  ordinary  Church  Service.  There  was 
nothing  else  available." 


216  TWILIGHT 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  was.  I  sent  for  a  copy  of  Mrs. 
Eddy's  lucubrations." 

"No!" 

"  Of  course  I  did.  I  had  to  make  myself  ac- 
quainted with  a  subject  on  which  I  should  be  com- 
pelled to  talk." 

"  What  a  wonderful  woman  you  are." 

"  Not  at  all.  If  she  had  been  a  South  Sea 
Islander  I'd  have  welcomed  her  with  shells  or  beads. 
Tell  me,  have  I  made  a  success?  Will  she  give  her 
consent  ?  " 

"  Have  you  given  yours,  have  you  really  given 
yours  ?  You  have  never  said  so  in  so  many  words." 

"  Well,  the  implication  must  have  been  fairly 
obvious."  The  eyes  she  turned  on  him  were  full 
of  happy  laughter,  almost  girlish.  Since  yesterday 
she  had  had  this  new  strange  bloom  of  youth. 
"  Don't  tell  me  your  sister  has  not  guessed." 

"  I  told  her." 

"  You  told  her !  Well !  I  never !  as  Stevens 
would  say.  And  you  were  pretending  not  to 
know!" 

"  I  only  said  you  had  never  put  it  into  words. 
Say  it  now,  Margaret,  out  here,  this  wonderful 
Sunday." 

"What  am  I  to  say?" 

"  Put  your  little  hand  in  mine,  your  sweet  flower 
of  a  hand."  He  took  it. 

"  Not  a  flower,  a  weed.     See  how  brown  they 


TWILIGHT  217 

have  got  since  I've  been  here."  He  kissed  the  weed 
or  flower  of  her  hand. 

"  Say,  '  Gabriel,  you  shall  be  my  husband.  I  will 
marry  you  the  very  first  day  I  am  free ! '  Her 
brows  knitted,  she  took  her  hand  away  a  little 
pettishly. 

"  I  am  free.    Why  do  you  remind  me  ?  " 

"  Say,  '  I  will  marry  you  on  the  last  day  in  May, 
in  six  weeks  from  today.'  " 

"  May  marriages  are  unlucky." 

"  Ours  could  not  be." 

"  Oh,  yes !  it  could.    I  am  a  woman  of  moods." 

"  Every  one  more  lovely  than  the  last." 

"  Impatient  and  irritable." 

"  You  shall  have  no  time  to  be  impatient.  Any- 
thing you  want  I  will  rush  to  obtain  for  you.  If 
you  are  irritable  I  will  soothe  you." 

"  And  then  I  want  hours  to  myself." 

"  I'll  wait  outside  your  door,  on  the  mat,  to 
keep  interruptions  from  you." 

"  I  want  to  write  ...  to  play  the  piano,  to  rest 
a  great  deal." 

"  Give  me  your  odd  half-hours."  She  gave  him 
back  her  hand  instead. 

"Let's  pretend.  We  are  to  sail  away  into  the 
unknown;  to  be  happy  ever  afterwards.  Where 
shall  we  go,  Gabriel  ?  Can  we  have  a  yacht  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  rich." 

"Pretend  you  are.      Where  shall  we  go?     To 


218  TWILIGHT 

Greece,  where  every  stone  is  hallowed  ground  to 
you.  All  the  white  new  buildings  shall  be  blotted 
out  and  you  may  turn  your  back  on  the 
museum  .  .  ." 

"  I  shall  only  want  to  look  at  you." 

"  No,  on  rocks  and  the  blue  ./Egean  Sea.  No,  we 
won't  go  to  Greece  at  all.  You  will  be  so  learned, 
know  so  much  more  than  I  about  everything.  I 
shall  feel  small,  insignificant." 

"  Never.    Bigger  than  the  Pantheon." 

"  We  will  go  to  Sicily  instead,  go  down  among 
the  tombs." 

"  I  bar  the  tombs." 

"  Contradicting  me  already.  How  dare  you, 
sir?" 

So  the  time  passed  in  happy  fooling,  but  often 
their  hands  met,  the  under-currents  between  them 
ran  swift  and  strong,  deep  too.  Then  it  was  time 
for  lunch.  It  was  Margaret  who  suggested  they 
would  be  in  time  to  meet  Anne,  walk  up  to  the 
house  with  her.  Nothing  had  been  said  about  Dr. 
Kennedy.  Gabriel  had  meant  to  broach  the  subject, 
only  touch  it  lightly,  suggest  if  she  still  needed 
medical  attendance  some  one  older,  less  interested 
might  perhaps  be  advisable. 

But  he  never  did  broach  the  subject,  it  had  been 
impossible  on  such  a  morning  as  this,  she  in  such  a 
mood,  he  in  such  accord  with  her.  Anne,  when  they 
met  her,  dashed  them  both  a  little.  She  twittered 


TWILIGHT  219 

away  about  the  service  and  the  sermon,  but  it  was 
nervous  and  disjointed  twitter,  and  her  eyes  were 
red.  She  responded  awkwardly  to  all  Margaret's 
kind  speeches,  her  enquiries  after  her  headache; 
she  was  even  guilty  of  the  heinous  offence,  heinous 
in  her  own  eyes  when  she  remembered  it  afterwards, 
of  saying  nothing  of  the  other's  faintness.  Her 
landmarks  had  been  swept  away,  the  ground  yawned 
under  her  feet.  Divorce!  She  did  not  think  she 
could  live  in  the  house  with  a  divorced  person.  She 
knew  that  some  clergymen  would  not  even  marry 
divorced  people,  nor  give  them  the  sacrament.  She 
was  miserably  distressed,  and  longing  to  be  at  home. 
She  felt  she  was  assisting  at  something  indecorous, 
if  not  worse;  she  thought  she  ought  not  to  have 
waited  for  the  sermon,  she  ought  not  to  have  left 
them  so  long  alone  together.  All  her  mingled  emo- 
tions made  her  feel  ill  again.  She  told  Gabriel 
crossly  that  he  was  walking  too  fast. 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Capel  likes  fast  walking?  Don't 
mind  me  if  you  do,"  she  said  to  Margaret,  "  I 
can  manage  by  myself." 

When  they  had  adapted  their  pace  to  hers  she 
was  little  better  satisfied;  querulous,  and  as  Mar- 
garet had  pictured  her  before  they  met.  Luncheon 
was  a  miserable  meal,  or  would  have  been  but  that 
nothing  could  have  really  damped  the  spirits  of 
these  other  two.  First  Anne  found  herself  in  a 
draught,  and  then  too  hot.  She  never  eat  eggs,  and 


220  TWILIGHT 

explained  about  her  digestion,  the  asparagus  tops 
could  not  tempt  her.  A  lobster  mayonnaise  was  a 
fresh  offence  or  disappointment.  And  she  could 
not  disguise  her  disapproval.  After  all  she  prided 
herself  she  did  know  something  about  housekeep- 
ing. 

"  I  never  give  Gabriel  eggs  except  for  break- 
fast." 

"  I  do  hope  I  have  not  upset  your  liver."  Mar- 
garet's eyes  were  full  of  laughter  when  she  ques- 
tioned him. 

"  In  my  young  days,  in  my  papa's  house,  nor  for 
the  matter  of  that  in  my  uncle's  either,  did  we  ever 
have  lobster  salad  except  for  a  supper  dish." 

Gabriel  suggested  gently  that  the  whole  art  of 
eating  had  altered  in  England. 

"  Cod  and  egg  sauce,"  put  in  Margaret. 

"  Nectar  and  ambrosia." 

"  We  never  gave  either  of  them,"  said  poor  hun- 
gry Anne. 

Fortunately  a  spatchcock  with  mushrooms  was 
produced,  and  the  mousse  of  jambon,  although  it 
seemed  "  odd,"  was  very  light. 

"  Why  didn't  I  have  boiled  mutton  and  rice  pud- 
ding?" Margaret  lamented  in  an  aside  to  Gabriel 
when  the  omelette  au  rhum  was  most  decisively  de- 
clined. Cream  cheese  and  gingerbread  proved  the 
last  straw.  Anne  admitted  it  made  her  feel  ill  to 
see  the  others  eat  these  in  combination. 


TWILIGHT  221 

"  I  should  like  to  get  back  to  town  as  early  as 
possible  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure  I 
don't  know  what  has  come  over  me,  I  felt  well  be- 
fore I  came.  The  place  cannot  agree  with  me.  I 
hope  you  don't  think  me  very  rude,  but  if  we  can 
have  a  fly  for  the  first  train  .  .  ." 

Gabriel  was  full  of  consternation  and  remon- 
strated with  her.  Margaret  whispered  to  him  it  was 
better  so.  Nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  detaining 
her  against  her  will. 

"  We  have  next  week  .  .  ." 

"  All  the  weeks,"  he  whispered  back. 

Margaret  offered  Stevens'  services,  but  Anne 
said  she  preferred  to  pack  for  herself,  then  she  knew 
just  where  everything  was.  The  lovers  had  an 
hour  to  themselves  whilst  she  was  engaged  in  this 
congenial  occupation.  She  reminded  Gabriel  that 
he  too  must  put  his  things  together,  and  he  agreed. 
She  thought  this  made  matters  safe. 

"  Stevens  will  do  them  for  you,"  Margaret  said 
softly.  He  did  not  care  how  they  were  jumbled 
in,  or  what  left  behind,  so  that  he  secured  this 
precious  hour. 

"  Something  has  upset  her,  it  was  not  only  the 
lunch,"  Margaret  said  sapiently.  He  did  not  wish 
to  enlighten  her. 

"Has  she  worried  you,  beloved  one?" 

"  Not  very  much,  not  as  much  as  she  ought  to 
perhaps.  I  was  selfish  with  her,  left  her  too  much 


222  TWILIGHT 

alone.  I  shall  know  better  another  time.  But  at  least 
we  had  yesterday  afternoon,  and  this  morning  .  .  . 
oh!  and  part  of  the  evening,  too.  Did  I  frighten 
you  very  much?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Before  I  had  time  to  be  frightened  you  smiled, 
something  of  your  colour  came  back.  Margaret, 
that  reminds  me.  Do  you  mind  if  I  suggest  to  you 
that  if  you  were  really  seedy  Dr.  Kennedy  is  com- 
paratively a  young  man  .  .  ."  She  laughed. 

"  But  look  how  devoted  he  is !  " 

"  That  is  why."  He  spoke  a  little  gravely,  and 
she  put  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Jealous !  "    Her  voice  was  very  soft. 

"  The  whole  world  loves  you." 

"  I  don't  love  the  whole  world."  And  when  she 
said  this  her  voice  was  no  longer  only  soft,  it  was 
tenderness  itself. 

"Thank  God!"    He  kissed  her  hand. 

But  returned  to  his  text  as  a  man  will.  "  No, 
I  am  not  jealous.  How  could  I  be?  You  have 
honoured  me,  dowered  me  beyond  all  other  men. 
But  you  are  so  precious,  so  supremely  and  unutter- 
ably precious.  Margaret,  my  heart  is  suddenly 
shaken.  Tell  me  again.  You  are  not  ill,  not  really 
ill?  When  this  trying  time  is  over,  when  I  can  be 
with  you  always  .  .  ." 

"How  about  those  hours  I  want  to  myself?" 
she  interrupted. 

"  When  I  can  be  within  sound  of  you,  taking  care 


TWILIGHT  223 

of  you  all  the  time,  you  will  be  well  then?  "  Now 
she  put  a  hand  on  his  knee.  "  Your  little  fairy 
hand !  "  he  exclaimed,  capturing  it. 

"  I  want  you  to  listen,"  she  began.  She  did  not 
know  or  believe  herself  that  she  was  seriously  ill, 
but  remembered  what  Dr.  Lansdowne  had  said  and 
shivered  over  it  a  little. 

"  Suppose  I  am  really  ill,  that  it  is  heart  disease 
with  me  as  the  German  doctors  and  Lansdowne  told 
me?  Not  only  heart  weakness  as  the  others 
say,  would  you  be  afraid?  Do  you  think  I  ought 
not  to  ...  to  marry  ?  " 

"  My  darling,  it  is  impossible,  your  beautiful 
vitality  makes  it  impossible.  But  if  it  were  true, 
incredibly  true,  then  all  the  more  reason  that  we 
should  be  married  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  must 
snatch  you  up,  carry  you  away."  There  was  an  in- 
terlude. "  You  want  petting  .  .  ."  He  was  a  little 
awkward  at  it  nevertheless,  inexperienced. 

"  Isn't  there  some  great  man  you  could  see,  and 
who  would  reassure  you,  some  specialist?" 

"  The  Roopes  ?  "  She  laughed,  and  her  short 
fit  of  seriousness  was  over. 

"  I  will  find  out  who  is  the  best  man,  the  head 
of  the  profession.  No  one  but  the  best  is  good 
enough  for  my  Margaret.  You  will  let  me  take 
you  to  him?  " 

"  Perhaps.  When  I  come  back  to  London ;  if 
I  am  not  well  by  then." 


224  TWILIGHT 

"  You  like  this  place,  don't  you  ? "  he  asked. 
"  You  don't  think  it  is  the  place  ?  " 

"  Pineland  and  Carbies?  I  am  not  sure.  If  I 
had  not  taken  it  for  three  months  I  believe  I'd  go 
back  today  or  tomorrow.  I  ran  away  from  you 
.  .  .  and  social  guns.  I'm  armed  now."  He 
thanked  her  for  that  mutely.  "  Do  you  really  love 
this  ill-fixed  house?" 

"  How  should  I  not  ?  But  what  does  that  mat- 
ter? Leave  it  empty  if  it  doesn't  suit  you.  There 
is  Queen  Anne's  Gate." 

"  I  know,  but  we  should  never  be  alone." 

"  Nothing  matters  but  that  you  should  be  well, 
happy.  I'd  take  my  vacation  now,  stay  down,  only 
I  want  at  least  six  weeks  in  June.  I  could  not  do 
with  less  than  six  weeks."  And  this  time  the  inter- 
lude was  longer,  more  silent.  Margaret  recovered 
herself  first. 

"  About  Peter  Kennedy.  He  really  suits  me  bet- 
ter than  any  of  the  other  doctors  here.  Lansdowne 
is  a  soft-soapy  grinning  pessimist,  with  an  all-con- 
quering air.  He  tells  you  how  ill  you  are  as  if  it 
doesn't  matter  since  he  has  warned  you,  and  will 
come  constantly  to  remind  you.  There  is  a  Dr. 
Lushington  who,  I  believe,  knows  more  than  all 
of  them  put  together,  but  he  is  a  delicate  man  him- 
self, overburdened  with  children,  and  cramped  with 
small  means.  He  gives  me  fresh  heartache,  I  am 
so  sorry  for  him  all  the  time  he  is  with  me.  Lans- 


TWILIGHT  225 

downe  and  Lushington  have  each  young  partners 
or  assistants,  straight  from  London  hospitals,  smell- 
ing of  iodoform,  talking  in  abstruse  medical  or  sur- 
gical terms,  nosing  for  operations,  as  dogs  for  truf- 
fles. You  don't  want  me  to  have  any  of  these,  do 
you?" 

"  I  want  you  to  do  what  you  please,  now  and 
always." 

"  Even  if  it  pleases  me  that  Peter  Kennedy  should 
medicine  and  make  love  to  me  ?  " 

"  Even  that.     Does  he  make  love  to  you  ?  " 

"What  did  he  tell  you?" 

"  That  he  adored  you — that  you  treated  him  like 
a  dog." 

"  He  gives  me  amyl,  bromide.  He  was  only  a 
country  practitioner  when  I  first  knew  him,  with 
a  gift  for  music,  but  not  for  diagnosis." 

"And  now?" 

"  He  has  done  more  reading,  medical  reading, 
since  I  have  been  here  than  in  all  his  life  before. 
Treatises  on  the  heart;  all  that  have  ever  been 
written.  He  is  really  studying,  he  intends  to  take  a 
higher  degree.  In  musics  too,  I  have  given  him  an 
impetus." 

Gabric/  was  obviously,  nevertheless,  not  quite 
satisfied,  started  a  tentative  "  but,"  and  would  per- 
haps have  enquired  whether  ultimately  it  would 
he  for  Peter  Kennedy's  good  that  she  had  done  so 
much  for  him.  Anne,  however,  intervened,  coming 


226  TWILIGHT 

down  dressed  for  the  journey,  very  agitated  at 
finding  the  two  together.  She  gave  him  no  op- 
portunity for  further  conversation,  monopolising 
the  attention  of  the  whole  household,  in  searching 
for  something  she  had  mislaid,  which  it  was  event- 
ually decided  had  possibly  been  left  in  Hampstead ! 
Her  conscience  reproached  her  for  her  behaviour 
over  lunch,  and  she  found  the  cup  of  tea  which 
Margaret  pressed  upon  her  before  she  left  "  de- 
licious." 

"  I  do  so  much  like  this  Chinese  tea,  ever  so 
much  better  than  the  Indian.  You  remember,  Ga- 
briel, don't  you,  that  rough  tea  we  used  to  have 
from  Pounds?  .  .  ."  And  she  told  a  wholly  ir- 
relevant anecdote  of  rival  grocers  and  their  wares. 

She  betrayed  altogether  in  the  last  ten  minutes 
an  uneasy  semi-consciousness  that  her  visit  had  not 
been  a  great  success  and  talked  quickly  in  belated 
apology. 

"  You've  been  so  kind  to  me.  I  am  afraid  I  have 
not  responded  as  I  ought.  My  silly  headache,  which 
of  course  I  never  exactly  had  .  .  .  you  know  what 
I  mean,  don't  you?  And  I  did  no  credit  to  your 
beautiful  lunch." 

Margaret  succeeded  in  assuring  her  that  she 
had  behaved  exactly  as  a  guest  should,  whilst  Ga- 
briel stood  by  silently. 

"  I  hope  you  will  come  again,"  she  said,  and  Anne 
replied  nervously,  noncommittal. 


TWILIGHT  227 

"  That  would  be  nice,  wouldn't  it  ?  But  I  am 
always  so  busy,  and  now  that  I  have  my  treatment 
it  is  so  much  more  difficult  to  get  away  .  .  ." 

A  kiss  was  avoided.  Margaret  went  to  the  hall 
door  with  them,  but  not  to  the  station.  Gabriel 
had  asked  her  not  to  do  so. 

"  You  ought  to  rest  after  yesterday." 

"  Yes,  of  course  she  ought  to  rest,"  Anne  cho- 
russed.  There  was  a  certain  awkwardness  in  the 
farewells,  somewhat  mitigated  by  the  luggage  that 
occupied,  so  to  speak,  the  foreground  of  the  pic- 
ture. As  they  drove  away  Anne  nodded  her  head, 
threw  a  kiss.  But  neither  Margaret  nor  Gabriel 
was  conscious  of  her  condescension,  only  of  how 
long  it  was  from  now  until  next  Friday. 

"  I  am  glad  that  is  over,"  Anne  said  complacently, 
as  the  carriage  turned  through  the  gates.  "  It  was 
very  trying,  very  trying  indeed.  In  many  ways 
she  is  quite  a  nice  person.  But  not  suited  to  us, 
in  our  quiet  lives.  Divorced  too!  I  thought  there 
was  something  last  night.  So  ...  so  overdressed 
and  peculiar.  I  am  glad  I  came  down  before  things 
had  gone  any  further  .  .  ." 

"Further  than  what?"  Gabriel  asked  her,  wak- 
ing up,  if  a  little  slowly,  to  the  position.  "  Mar- 
garet and  I  are  to  be  married  in  about  a  month's 
time.  You  shall  stay  on  in  the  flat  if  you  wish.  I 
think  I  shall  be  able  to  arrange  .  .  .  Have  you 


228  TWILIGHT 

thought  about  any  one  you  would  like  to  share  it 
with  you?  " 

"  Any  one  I  should  like !  Share  it  with  me  ?  " 
She  was  very  shrill  and  he  hushed  her,  although 
there  was  no  one  to  hear  but  the  flyman,  who 
flicked  at  the  trotting  horse  and  wheezed  indif- 
ferently. They  got  to  the  station  long  before  Anne 
had  taken  in  the  fact  that  Gabriel  was  telling  her  his 
intention,  not  asking  her  advice.  In  the  train; 
after  they  got  home ;  and  for  many  weary  days  she 
showed  her  unreasoning  and  ineffective  opposition. 
It  was  not  worth  recording,  or  would  not  be  but 
for  the  sympathetic  interest  taken  by  the  Roopes, 
when  Anne,  reluctantly  and  under  pressure,  gave 
her  brother's  approaching  marriage  as  a  reason  for 
her  own  impaired  health,  and  the  failure  of  their 
ministrations.  Anne  felt  it  her  duty  to  tell  them 
this,  and  Mrs.  Roope  no  less  hers  to  make  further 
enquiries;  the  results  being  more  far-reaching 
than  either  of  them  could  have  anticipated.  James 
Capel  was  a  relation  of  the  Roopes  and  it  was 
natural  they  should  be  interested  in  the  wife  who 
had  so  flagrantly  divorced  him. 

Ten  days  after  Anne's  unlucky  visit  to  Carbies, 
Gabriel  received  a  bewildering  telegram.  He  had 
been  down  once  in  the  interval,  but  had  found  it 
unnecessary  to  speak  of  Anne,  her  vagaries  c? 
vapours.  He  stayed  at  Carbies  because  once  having 
done  so  it  seemed  absurd  that  his  room  should  re- 


TWILIGHT  229 

main  empty.  The  very  contrast  between  this  visit 
and  the  last  accentuated  its  intimate  charm.  Anne 
was  not  there,  and  Peter  Kennedy's  services  not 
being  required,  he  had  the  good  sense  or  taste  to 
keep  away.  Margaret,  closely  questioned,  admitted 
to  having  stayed  a  couple  of  days  in  bed,  after  the 
last  week-end,  admitted  to  weakness,  but  not  ill- 
ness. 

"  I  have  always  been  like  that  ever  since  I  was  a 
child.  What  is  called,  I  believe,  '  a  little  delicate.' 
I  get  very  easily  over-tired.  Then  if  I  don't  pull 
up  and  recuperate  with  bed  and  Benger,  I  get  an 
attack  of  pain  .  .  ." 

"Of  pain!     My  poor  darling!" 

"  Unbearable.  I  mean  7  can't  bear  it.  Gabriel, 
don't  you  think  you  are  doing  a  very  foolish  thing, 
taking  this  half -broken  life  of  mine?  " 

"  If  only  the  time  were  here! " 

"  Sometimes  I  think  it  will  never  come,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  am  clairvoyante  in  a  way.  I  don't  see 
myself  in  harbour." 

"  Only  three  weeks  more,  then  you  shall  be  as 
clairvoyante  as  you  like."  He  laughed  happily, 
holding  her  to  him. 

On  this  visit  she  seemed  glad  of  his  love,  to  de- 
pend upon  and  need  him.  He  always  had  that  for 
which  to  be  glad.  In  truth  that  weakness  of  which 
she  spoke,  and  which  was  the  cause,  or  perhaps  the 
effect,  of  two  unmistakable  heart  attacks,  had  left 


230  TWILIGHT 

her  in  the  mood  for  Gabriel  Stanton,  his  serious 
tenderness,  and  deep,  almost  overwhelming  devo- 
tion. She  was  a  whimsical,  strange  little  creature, 
genius  as  she  called  herself,  and  for  the  moment  had 
ceased  to  act. 

The  weather  changed,  it  rained  almost  continu- 
ously from  Saturday  night  until  Monday  morning. 
They  spent  the  time  between  the  music  room  and 
the  uncongenial  dining-room  where  they  had  their 
meals.  On  the  sofa,  she  lay  practically  in  his  arms, 
she  sheltered  there.  She  had  been  frightened  by 
her  own  agitation  and  uncertainty;  the  attacks 
that  followed.  And  now  believed  that  all  she 
needed  was  calm ;  happy  certainty ;  Gabriel  Stanton. 

"  Don't  make  me  care  for  you  too  much,"  she 
said  on  one  of  these  days.  "  I  want  you  to  rest 
me,  not  to  get  excited  over  you,  to  keep  calm." 

"  I  am  here  only  for  you  to  use.  Think  of  me 
as  refuge,  sanctuary,  what  you  will." 

"  A  sort  of  cathedral  ?  " 

"  You  may  laugh  at  me.  I  like  you  to  laugh  at 
me.  Why  not  as  a  cathedral,  cool  and  restful  ?  " 

"  Cool  and  restful,"  she  repeated.  "  Yes,  you 
are  like  that.  But  suppose  I  want  to  wander  out- 
side, restless  creature  that  I  am;  suppose  nothing 
you  do  satisfies  me  ?  " 

"  I'll  do  more." 

"And  after  that?" 

"  Always  more." 


TWILIGHT  231 

There  were  no  scenes  between  them ;  Gabriel  was 
not  the  man  for  scenes,  he  was  deeply  happy, 
humbly  happy,  not  knowing  his  own  worth,  much 
more  careful  of  her  than  any  woman  could  have 
been,  and  gentle  beyond  speech.  Even  in  those  days 
she  wondered  how  it  would  be  with  her  if  she  were 
well,  robust,  whether  all  these  little  cares  would  not 
irritate  her,  whether  this  was  indeed  the  lover  for 
her.  There  was  something  donnish  and  Oxonian 
about  him. 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  look  upon  you  as  a  cathedral, 
whether  it  isn't  more  as  a  college." 

When  he  could  not  follow  her  he  remained  silent. 

"  Think  of  me  any  way  you  want  so  long  as  you 
do  think  of  me,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  that." 

"  Was  it  what  you  wanted  me  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  only  want  to  hear  you  say  you  adore  me. 
You  say  it  so  nicely  too." 

"  Do  I  ?  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done  to  de- 
serve you." 

"  Just  loved  me,"  she  said  dreamily. 

"  Any  man  would  do  that." 

"  Not  in  the  same  way." 

"  As  long  as  my  way  pleases  you  I  am  the  most 
fortunate  of  men." 

"  Even  if  I  never  wrote  another  line?  " 

"As  if  it  mattered  which  way  you  express  your- 
self, by  writing  or  simply  living." 


232  TWILIGHT 

"  Such  love  is  enervating.  Are  you  not  ambitious 
forme?" 

"  You've  done  enough." 

"  I  am  capable  of  doing  much  better  work." 

"  You  are  capable  of  anything." 

"  Except  of  that  book  on  Staffordshire  Pottery." 

"  That  was  only  to  have  been  a  stop-gap.  You 
replaced  that  with  me,  darling  that  you  are !  " 

"What  will  Sir  George  say  when  he  knows?" 

"  He  will  say  '  Lucky  fellow  '  and  envy  me.  Mar- 
garet, about  how  we  shall  live,  and  where  ?  " 

He  told  her  again  he  was  not  rich.  There  was 
Anne,  a  certain  portion  of  his  income  must  be  put 
aside  for  Anne. 

"  You  are  quite  rich  enough.  For  the  matter  of 
that  I  have  still  my  marriage  settlement.  Father 
would  give  me  more  if  we  needed  it.  James  had 
thousands  from  him." 

Then  they  both  coloured,  she  in  shame  that  this 
ineffable  James  had  ever  called  her  wife.  He,  be- 
cause the  idea  that  any  of  her  comforts  or  luxuries 
should  emanate  from  her  father  or  from  any  one 
but  himself  was  repellent  to  him.  He  would  have 
talked  ways  and  means,  considered  the  advantages 
of  house  or  flat,  spoken  of  furniture,  but  that  at 
first  she  was  wayward  and  said  it  was  unlucky  to 
"  count  chickens  before  they  were  boiled,  or  was  it 
a  watched  pot  ?  "  She  would  only  banter  and  say 
things  that  were  without  meaning  or  for  which  he 


TWILIGHT  233 

could  not  find  the  meaning.  Presumably,  however, 
she  allowed  him  to  lead  her  back  to  the  subject. 

"  I  have  in  my  mind  sometimes  a  little  old  house 
in  Westminster,  built  in  the  seventeenth  or  eight- 
eenth century,  with  panelled  walls  and  uneven  floors. 
And  hunting  for  furniture  in  old  curiosity  shops. 
It  mustn't  be  earlier  than  the  eighteenth  century,  by 
the  way.  Not  too  early  in  that;  or  my  Stafford- 
shire won't  look  well.  In  the  living-room  with  the 
eighteenth-century  chintz  I  see  all  little  rosebuds 
and  green  leaves.  A  few  colour  prints  on  the 
walls." 

Gabriel  had  spoken  of  his  collection  of  old  prints. 
He  said  he  would  set  about  looking  for  the  house 
at  once.  He  told  her  there  were  a  few  such  still 
standing,  they  were  snapped  up  so  eagerly. 

Soon,  quite  excitedly  they  were  both  planning, 
talking  of  old  oak,  James  I.  silver,  William  and 
Mary  walnut.  Of  all  their  happy  hours  this  I  think 
was  the  happiest  they  ever  spent.  Their  tastes  were 
so  congenial,  Gabriel's  knowledge  so  far  beyond 
her  own;  the  home  they  would  build  so  essentially 
suited  to  them.  There  Margaret  would  write  and 
play,  hold  something  of  a  salon.  He  would  see  that 
all  her  surroundings  were  appropriate,  dignified, 
congenial.  She  would  be  the  centre  of  an  ascend- 
ing chorus  of  admiration.  He  would,  as  it  were, 
conduct  the  band.  With  adoring  eyes  he  would 
watch  her  effects,  temper  this  or  straighten  that, 


234  TWILIGHT 

setting  the  stage  and  noting  the  audience ;  all  for  her 
glorification. 

When  they  parted  on  that  Sunday  night  they 
could  scarcely  tear  themselves  asunder.  Three 
weeks  seemed  so  long,  so  desperately  long.  Mar- 
garet, woman  of  moods,  suddenly  launched  at  him 
that  they  would  have  no  honeymoon  at  all.  He  was 
to  look  for  the  house  at  once,  to  find  it  without 
difficulty. 

"  Then  I'll  come  up  and  confirm ;  set  the  painters 
to  work,  begin  to  look  for  things." 

Gabriel  pleaded  for  his  honeymoon. 

"  But  it  will  all  be  honeymoon." 

"I  want  you  all  to  myself;  for  at  least  a  little 
time.  I  won't  be  selfish,  but  for  a  little  while,  just 
you  and  I  ..." 

He  must  have  pleaded  well,  for  though  she  made 
him  no  promise  in  words  he  knew  she  had  an- 
swered "  yes  "  by  her  eyes  downcast,  and  breath 
that  came  a  little  quicker,  by  the  clinging  hands, 
by  finding  her  in  his  arms,  her  undenying  lips. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON  Monday  morning  he  went  up  to  town  with- 
out seeing  her  again.  Tuesday  he  got  that  fateful 
telegram : 

Stevens  seen  man  hanging  about  house,  shabby 
peering  man.  Questioned  cook.  Sick  with  fear. 
Send  back  all  my  letters  at  once  by  special  messen- 
ger. In  panic.  On  no  account  come  down  or  near 
me  but  letters  urgent. 

Stevens  had  told  her  in  the  evening  whilst  put- 
ting her  to  bed.  Stevens  knew  all  about  the  case 
and  was  alert  for  possible  complications.  The 
shabby  man  had  been  under  the  observation  of 
cook  and  housemaid. 

"  And  much  satisfaction  he  got  out  of  what  they 
told  him.  Askin'  questions  an'  peerin'  about !  Cook 
told  him  off,  said  no  one  hadn't  been  stayin'  here, 
an'  if  they  had  'twas  no  business  of  his." 

Margaret,  pale  and  stricken,  asked  if  the  man 
looked  like  .  .  .  like  a  detective. 

"  Lawyer's  clerk  more  like,  but  I  thought  I'd 
best  let  you  know." 

The  news  would  have  kept  until  the  morning,  but 
one  could  not  expect  a  servant  to  take  into  con- 

235 


236  TWILIGHT 

sideration  the  effect  her  stories  might  have  on  Mar- 
garet's sensitiveness.  She  had  no  sleep  at  all. 
Sleepless  and  shaken  she  lay  awake  the  whole  night, 
conjuring  up  ghosts,  chiefly  the  ghost  or  vision  of 
James,  coarse-mouthed,  cruel,  vindictive.  The  bare 
idea  of  the  case  being  reopened  made  her  shudder, 
she  had  been  so  tormented  in  court,  her  modesties 
outraged.  She  knew  she  could  never,  would  never 
bear  it  again.  If  the  dreadful  choice  were  all  that 
was  left  to  her  she  would  give  up  Gabriel.  At  the 
thought  of  giving  up  Gabriel  it  seemed  there  was 
nothing  else  for  which  she  cared,  nothing  on 
earth. 

She  conjured  up  not  only  ghosts  but  absurdities. 
The  shabby  peering  man  would  go  to  Hampstead, 
question  Gabriel's  silly  sister,  be  shown  letters. 
This  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  On  the  last 
occasion  letters  of  hers  had  been  read  in  court ;  love 
letters  to  James!  She  cringed  in  her  bed  at  the 
remembrance  of  them.  And  what  had  she  written 
to  Gabriel?  Not  one  word  came  back  to  her  of 
anything  she  had  written.  At  first  she  knew  they 
had  been  laboured  letters,  laboured  or  literary.  But 
since  she  had  been  down  here,  and  Peter  Kennedy, 
by  sheer  force  of  contrast,  had  taught  her  how  much 
she  could  care  for  a  really  good  and  clever  man, 
she  had  written  with  entire  unrestraint,  freely. 

She  wrote  that  telegram  to  Gabriel  Stanton  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  going  down  to  the 


TWILIGHT  237 

drawing-room  for  a  telegram  form  in  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  her  hair  in  two  plaits,  shivering 
with  cold  and  apprehension.  The  house  was  full 
of  eerie  sounds;  she  heard  pursuing  feet.  After 
she  had  secured  the  forms  she  rushed  for  the  shelter 
of  her  room  and  the  warmth  of  her  bed  ;  cowering 
under  the  clothes,  not  able  for  a  long  time  to  do 
the  task  she  had  set  herself.  When  she  became 
sufficiently  rested  she  took  more  time  and  care  over 
the  wording  of  her  telegram  to  Gabriel  than  she 
might  have  done  over  a  sonnet.  She  wanted  to  say 
just  enough,  not  too  much,  not  to  bring  him  down, 
yet  to  make  the  matter  urgent.  Stevens  was  rung 
for  at  six  o'clock  for  tea  and  perhaps  sympathy. 

"  Get  me  a  cup  of  tea  as  quickly  as  you  can,  I've 
been  awake  the  whole  night.  I  want  this  telegram 
sent  off  as  soon  as  the  office  opens,  not  later  anyway 
than  eight  o'clock.  Keep  the  house  as  quiet  as  you 
can.  I  shall  try  and  sleep  now." 

She  slept  until  Gabriel's  telegram  came  back. 

One  of  our  own  men  coming  with  package  by 


She  met  the  train,  looking  pale  and  wretched. 
Stanton's  man  wore  the  familiar  cap.  She  had  been 
to  the  office  two  or  three  times  about  the  pottery 
book,  and  he  recognised  her  easily. 

"  You  have  a  parcel  for  me  ?  " 


238  TWILIGHT 

"  Mr.  Gabriel  said  I  was  to  tell  you  there  was  a 
letter  inside." 

"A  letter!  But  I  thought  ...  oh,  yes!  Give 
it  to  me." 

"  And  I  was  to  ask  if  there  was  an  answer." 

"  An  answer,  but  I  can't  write  here ! " 

"  He  didn't  know  you  was  meeting  me.  '  Go 
up  to  the  house,'  he  said ;  '  give  it  to  her  in  her  own 
hands.  Ask  if  there  is  any  answer.'' 

"Tell  him  .  .  .  tell  him  I'll  write,"  she  said 
vaguely. 

But  as  yet  she  had  not  read.  What  would  he  say, 
what  comfort  send  her  ?  For  all  her  wired  definite- 
ness  she  wished  he  had  come  himself,  had  a  mo- 
ment's disloyalty  to  him,  thought  he  should  have 
disregarded  her  wishes,  rushed  down,  even  if  they 
had  met  only  at  the  station.  He  need  not  have  been 
so  punctilious! 

She  could  not  let  the  man  go  back  until  she  had 
read  and  answered  Gabriel's  letter.  She  made  him 
drive  back  with  her  to  Carbies,  seated  on  the  box 
beside  the  driver.  She  held  the  precious  package 
tight,  but  did  not  open  it.  For  that  she  must  be 
alone. 

Stanton's  man  was  handed  over  to  the  house- 
hold's care  for  lunch  or  tea.  He  was  to  go  back  by 
the  5.5.  "  Mr.  Gabriel "  had  given  him  his  in- 
structions. 

Now  she  was  at  her  writing-table  and  alone. 


TWILIGHT  239 

The  packet  was  sealed  with  sealing-wax.  Inside 
there  were  all  her  own  letters,  and  a  closed  en- 
velope superscribed  in  the  dear  familiar  hand- 
writing. She  tore  it  open.  After  she  had  read 
her  lover's  letter  she  had  no  more  reproaches  for 
him,  vague  or  otherwise. 

My  Own,  my  Beloved: — 

Here  are  the  letters.  I  could  refuse  you  nothing, 
but  to  part  from  these  has  overwhelmed  me,  weak- 
ened me.  I  have  turned  coward.  For  it  is  all  so 
unknown.  I  am  in  the  dark,  bewildered.  Your 
wire  was  an  awful  shock.  I  am  haunted  with 
terror,  the  harder  to  bear  because  it  came  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  sweet  sacred  thoughts  and  re- 
membrances of  a  wonderful  week-end,  of  the  things 
3rou  said  or  allowed  me  to  say  which  filled  me  with 
high  hopes,  promise  of  joy  and  happiness  I  dared 
hardly  dwell  upon.  I  don't  know  what  has  hap- 
pened. I  only  know  you  must  not  be  alone  and 
have  forbidden  me  to  come  to  you.  Rescind  your 
decision,  I  implore  you.  As  I  think  and  think  with 
restless  brain  and  heart  my  great  ache  and  anxiety 
are  that  you  are  in  trouble  and  that  I  am  away  and 
useless,  just  when  I  would  give  my  soul  for  the 
chance  of  standing  by  you  and  with  you  in  any 
need  and  for  always.  By  all  the  remembrance  of 
our  happy  hours,  by  all  the  new  and  sweet  happi- 
ness you  have  given  me,  by  all  I  yearn  for  in  the 
future  give  me  this  chance.  Let  me  come  to  you. 
To  think  of  you  suffering  alone  is  maddening. 
Trust  me,  give  me  your  trust,  solemnly  I  swear  not 
to  fail  you  whatever  may  happen.  It  is  of  you 


240  TWILIGHT 

only  I  am  thinking.  I  can  be  strong  for  you,  wise 
for  you,  and  should  thank  God,  both  in  pride  and 
humbleness,  for  the  chance  to  serve  you;  to  serve 
you  with  reverence  and  love.  Send  for  me.  Tell 
me — let  me  share  all  and  always. 

Devotedly  yours, 

G.  S. 


She  sat  a  long  time  with  the  letter  in  her  hand, 
read  it  again  and  yet  again.  She  forgot  the  night 
terrors,  began  to  question  herself.  Of  what  had  she 
been  so  frightened?  What  had  Stevens  told  her? 
Only  that  a  shabby  man  had  questioned  cook  about 
their  visitors.  Now  she  wanted  to  analyse  and 
sift  the  trouble,  get  to  bedrock  with  it.  She  rang 
the  bell  and  sent  for  the  maids.  They  had  singu- 
larly little  to  tell  her ;  summarised  it  came  to  this : 
A  shabby  man  had  hung  about  Carbies  all  Mon- 
day; cook  had  called  him  up  to  the  back  door 
and  asked  him  what  he  was  after — "  No  good,  I'll 
be  bound,"  she  told  him.  He  had  paid  her 
a  compliment  and  said  that  "  with  her  in  the 
kitchen  it  was  no  wonder  men  'ung  about." 
And  after  that  they  seemed  to  have  had  some- 
thing of  a  colloquy  and  cook  had  been  asked 
if  she  walked  out  with  anybody.  "  Like  his  nasty 
impidence,"  she  commented,  when  telling  the  story 
to  her  mistress.  "  I  up  and  told  him  whether  I 
walked  out  with  anybody  or  not  I  wasn't  for  the 
likes  of  him." 


TWILIGHT  241 

It  was  not  without  question  and  cross-question 
Margaret  elicited  that  this  final  snub  was  not  given 
until  after  tea.  Cook  defended  the  invitation. 

"  It's  'ard  if  in  an  establishment  like  this  you 
can't  offer  a  young  man  a  cup  of  tea."  She  com- 
plained, not  without  waking  a  sympathetic  echo  in 
Margaret's  own  heart,  that  Pineland  was  that  dull, 
not  a  bit  o'  life  in  it.  Married  men  came  round 
with  the  carts  and  a  girl  delivered  the  milk. 

"  'E  was  pleasant  company  enough  till  'e  started 
arskin'  questions." 

Then  it  appeared  it  was  Stevens  who  "  gave  him 
as  good  as  he  gave,"  asking  him  what  it  was  he  did 
want  to  know,  and  being  satirical  with  him.  The 
housemaid  had  chimed  in  with  Stevens;  there  may 
have  been  some  little  feminine  jealousy  at  the  back 
of  it.  Cook  was  young  and  frivolous,  the  two 
others  more  sedate.  Stevens  and  the  housemaid 
must  have  set  upon  cook  and  her  presumed  admirer. 
In  any  case  the  young  man  was  given  his  conge 
immediately  after  tea,  before  he  had  established  a 
footing.  Stevens'  report  had  been  exaggerated, 
Margaret's  terror  excessive  and  unreasonable.  She 
dismissed  the  erring  cook  now  with  the  mildest  of 
rebukes,  then  set  herself  to  write  to  Gabriel.  The 
time  was  limited,  since  the  man  was  returning  by 
the  5.5.  She  heard  later,  by  the  way,  that  he  quite 
replaced  the  stranger  in  the  cook's  facile  affections. 
Stevens  again  was  responsible  for  the  statement  that 


242  TWILIGHT 

cook  was  "  that  light  and  talked  away  to  any  man." 
Contrasting  with  herself,  Stevens,  who  "  didn't 
'old  with  making  herself  cheap." 

Margaret  wrote  slowly,  even  if  it  were  only  a 
letter.  She  had  to  recall  her  mood,  to  analyse  the 
panic.  She  was  quite  calm  now.  His  letter  seemed 
exaggerated  beyond  what  the  occasion  or  the  tele- 
gram demanded. 

Dearest: — 

How  good  you  are,  and  safe.  Your  letter  calmed 
and  comforted  me.  Panic !  no  other  word  describes 
my  condition  at  four  o'clock  this  morning  after  a 
sleepless  night.  Servants'  gossip  was  at  the  bot- 
tom of  it.  I  have  always  wished  for  a  dumb  maid, 
but  Stevens'  tongue  is  hung  on  vibrating  wires, 
never  still.  There  was  a  man,  it  seems  now  he  was 
a  suitor  of  cook's!  He  did  ask  questions,  but 
chiefly  as  to  her  hours  off  duty,  whether  she  was 
already  "  walking  out,"  an  expression  for  an  en- 
gagement on  probation,  I  understand.  He  was  an 
aspirant.  I  cannot  write  you  a  proper  letter,  my 
bad  night  has  turned  me  into  a  wreck,  a  "  beautiful 
ruin  "  as  you  would  say.  No,  you  wouldn't,  you 
are  too  polite.  You  must  take  it  then  that  all  is 
well;  except  that  your  choice  has  fallen  upon  a 
woman  easily  unnerved.  Was  I  so  foolish  after 
all?  James  is  capable  of  any  blackguardism,  he 
would  hate  that  I  should  be  happy  with  you.  He 
can  no  longer  excuse  his  conduct  to  me,  or  my  re- 
sentment of  it  on  the  plea  that  I  am  unlike  other 
women.  I  know  his  mind  so  well !  "  Women  of 
genius  have  no  sex,"  he  said  among  other  things 


TWILIGHT  243 

to  account  for  the  failure  of  our  married  life.  He 
can  say  so  no  longer.  "  Women  of  genius  have 
no  sex !  "  It  isn't  true.  Do  you  see  me  reddening 
as  I  write  it?  What  about  that  little  house  in 
Westminster  ?  Have  you  written  to  all  the  agents  ? 
Are  you  searching?  Sunday  night  I  was  so  happy. 
One  large  room  there  must  be.  Colour  prints  on 
the  walls  and  chintz  on  the  big  sofas,  my  Stafford- 
shire everywhere,  a  shrine  somewhere,  central  place 
for  the  musicians;  cushions  of  all  shades  of  roses, 
some  a  pale  green.  I  can't  see  the  carpets  or  cur- 
tains yet.  I  incline  to  dark  green  for  both.  No, 
I  am  not  frivolous,  only  emotional.  I  think  I  shall 
alter  when  we  are  together,  begin  to  develop  and 
grow  uniform  in  the  hothouse  of  your  love,  under 
the  forcing  glass  of  your  great  regard.  It  is  into 
that  house,  under  that  glass  I  want  to  creep,  to  be 
warmed  through,  to  blossom. 

Picture  me  then  as  no  longer  unhappy  or  dis- 
tressed, although  all  day  I  have  neither  worked 
nor  played.  Your  letter  healed  me ;  take  thanks  for 
it  therefore  and  come  down  Saturday  as  usual,  with 
a  plan  of  the  house  that  is  to  be.  (By  the  way,  I 
must  have  dog  stoves.)  In  a  few  days  now  I,  or 
you,  will  tell  my  father  and  stepmother.  The  days 
crawl,  each  one  emptier  than  the  other,  until  the 
one  that  brings  you.  A  rivierdici. 

She  sent  it,  but  not  the  old  ones  back.  She 
wanted  to  read  them  again,  it  would  be  an  occupa- 
tion for  the  evening.  She  would  place  them  in 
order,  together  with  his  answers.  She  saw  a  story 
there.  "  The  Love  Tale  of  a  Woman  of  Genius." 


244  TWILIGHT 

After  all,  both  she  and  Gabriel  were  of  sufficient 
interest  for  the  world  to  wish  to  read  about  them. 
( It  was  not  until  a  few  days  later,  by  the  way,  that 
the  title  was  altered,  others  tried,  that  the  disin- 
genuous diary  began,  the  MS.  started.) 

She  slept  well  that  night  and  wrote  him  again  in 
the  morning,  the  most  passionate  love-letter  of  any 
of  the  series.  Then  she  sent  for  Peter  Kennedy. 
Wednesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday  had  to  be  got 
through.  And  then  another  week,  and  one  other. 
And  Safety,  safety  with  Gabriel ! 

Peter  came  hot-foot  like  a  starving  animal.  It 
was  five  days  since  he  had  seen  her,  and  he  looked 
worn  and  cadaverous.  She  gave  him  an  intermit- 
tent pulse  to  count,  told  him  she  had  had  a  sleep- 
less night,  found  herself  restless,  unnerved,  told  him 
no  more.  He  was  purely  professional  at  first, 
brusquely  uneasy  about  her,  blaming  her  for  all 
she  had  done  and  left  undone,  the  tonic  she  had 
missed,  the  unrest  to  which  she  admitted.  After 
that  they  found  little  more  to  say  to  each  other, 
though  Peter  could  not  tear  himself  away. 

She  talked  best  to  Peter  through  the  piano,  as  he 
to  her.  Even  in  these  few  weeks  his  playing  had 
enormously  improved.  The  whole  man  had  altered. 
She  had  had  more  and  different  effect  upon  him 
than  would  have  seemed  possible  at  first.  He  had 
never  been  in  love  before,  only  known  vulgar  in- 
trigue, how  to  repel  the  glad-eye  attentions  of  pro- 


TWILIGHT  245 

vincial  maidens  to  whom  his  size  was  an  attraction, 
and  his  stupidity  no  deterrent.  This  was  some- 
thing altogether  different,  and  in  a  measure  he  had 
grown  to  meet  it,  become  more  ambitious  and  less 
demonstrative,  perceptibly  humbler.  She  knew  he 
loved  her  but  made  light  of  it.  He  filled  up  the 
hours  until  Gabriel  would  come  again.  That  was 
all.  But  less  amusingly  now  that  she  had  less 
difficulty  in  managing  him.  This  mutual  attrac- 
tion of  music  slurred  over  many  weak  places  in 
their  intercourse. 

Wednesday  he  sat  through  the  afternoon,  stayed 
on  to  dinner  playing  to  her  and  listening.  Thurs- 
day he  paid  her  a  professional  visit  in  the  morning, 
would  have  sounded  her  heart  but  that  his  stetho- 
scope was  unsteady,  and  he  heard  his  own  heart- 
beats louder  and  more  definitely  than  hers.  Thurs- 
day evening  he  ran  up  on  his  bicycle  to  see  if  she 
was  all  right.  There  was  more  music,  and  for  all 
his  newly  found  self-restraint  a  scene  at  parting,  a 
scene  that  troubled  her  because  she  could  not  hold 
herself  guiltless  in  bringing  it  about,  and  Gabriel 
was  in  her  mind  now  to  the  exclusion  of  any  other 
man.  Gabriel  had  won  solidly  that  which  at  first 
was  little  more  than  an  incitement,  an  inclina- 
tion. 

Gabriel  Stanton  would  not  have  made  love  to  an- 
other man's  fiancee.  His  standard  was  higher  than 
her  own,  just  as  his  scholarship  was  deeper  and 


246  TWILIGHT 

more  profound.  She  was  proud  that  he  loved  her, 
simpler  and  more  sincere  than  she  had  ever  been 
before. 

Tonight,  when  Peter  Kennedy  broke  down,  and 
cried  at  her  feet  and  told  her  that  his  days  were 
hell  and  all  his  nights  sleepless,  she  was  ashamed 
and  distressed,  much  more  repelled  than  attracted. 
She  told  him  she  would  refuse  to  see  him,  that  she 
would  not  have  him  at  the  house  at  all  if  he  could 
not  learn  to  behave  himself. 

"  You  are  a  disgrace  to  your  profession,"  she 
said  crossly,  knowing  she  was  not  blameless. 

"  You  do  not  really  think  so,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  can't  help  being  in  love  with  you." 

"  Yes,  I  do.     You  have  given  me  a  pain." 

When  she  said  that  and  pressed  both  hands  over 
her  heart  his  whole  attitude  changed.  It  was  true 
that  under  the  influence  of  his  love  his  skill  had 
developed.  Her  lips  grew  pale  and  her  eyes  fright- 
ened. He  made  her  lie  down,  loosened  her  dress, 
gave  her  restoratives.  The  pain  had  been  but  slight, 
and  she  recovered  rapidly. 

"  It  was  entirely  your  fault,"  she  said  when  she 
was  able  to  speak.  "  You  know  I  can't  bear  any 
agitation  or  excitement." 

"The  last  you'll  have  through  me,  I  swear  it. 
You  can  trust  me." 

"  Until  the  first  time  the  spirit  moves  you."  She 
never  had  considered  his  feelings  and  did  not  pause 


TWILIGHT  247 

to  do  so  now.  "  You've  no  self-control.  You  dump 
your  ungainly  love  upon  me  .  .  ." 

"  And  you  throw  it  back  in  my  face  with  both 
hands,  as  if  it  were  mud.  But  you'll  never  have 
another  chance,  never  .  .  ." 

She  was  a  little  sorry  for  him,  and  to  show  it 
reproached  him  more. 

"  Why  do  you  do  it,  then  ?  You  know  that,  as 
far  as  I  can  be,  I  am  engaged  to  Gabriel  Stanton, 
that  the  moment  the  decree  is  made  absolute  we  shall 
be  married.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have  let  you 
come  so  often  .  .  ." 

"  I  fell  in  love  with  you  the  very  first  moment 
I  saw  you.  If  I'd  never  seen  you  again  it  would 
have  been  the  same  thing.  And  you've  nothing  to 
reproach  yourself  with.  You've  made  a  different 
man  of  me.  I  play  better." 

"  And  your  taste  in  music  has  improved."  He 
looked  so  forlorn  standing  up  and  saying  he  played 
the  piano  better  since  he  had  known  her,  that  she 
regretted  the  cruelty  of  her  words.  He  had  relieved 
her  pain  not  once  but  many  times.  Instead  of 
sending  him  away,  as  she  had  intended,  she  kept 
him  with  her  until  quite  late.  She  let  him  tell  her 
about  himself ;  and  what  a  change  his  love  for  her 
had  brought  into  his  life,  and  there  was  nothing 
he  would  not  do,  nor  sacrifice  for  her.  He  said, 
humbly  enough,  that  he  knew  she  could  never,  never 
have  cared  for  such  a  man  as  himself. 


248  TWILIGHT 

"  Stanton  has  been  to  a  public  school  and  uni- 
versity, is  no  end  of  a  swell  at  classics.  I  got  what 
little  education  I  have  at  St.  Paul's  and  the  London 
University,  walked  the  hospitals  and  thought  well 
of  myself  for  doing  it,  that  I  was  coming  up  in  the 
world.  My  father  was  a  country  dentist.  I've 
studied  more,  learnt  more  since  you've  been  here 
than  in  all  my  student  days.  You've  opened  a  new 
world  to  me.  I  didn't  know  there  were  women 
like  you.  After  the  girls  I've  met !  You  were  such 
a  ...  lady,  and  all  that.  You  are  so  clever  too, 
and  satirical,  I  don't  mind  you  being  down  on  me. 
It  isn't  as  if  you  were  strong." 

She  smiled  and  asked  him  whether  her  delicacy 
was  an  additional  charm. 

"  Well,  yes,  in  a  way  it  is.  I  can  always  bring 
you  round.  I  want  you  to  go  on  letting  me  be  your 
doctor.  You  hardly  had  that  pain  a  minute  tonight. 
It  is  angina,  you  know,  genuine  angina  pectoris, 
and  I  can  do  no  end  of  things  for  it." 

"  You  don't  mean  I  must  always  have  these 
pains,  that  they  will  grow  worse  ?  "  She  grew  pale 
and  he  saw  he  had  made  a  mistake,  hastening  to  re- 
assure her. 

"  You've  only  got  to  live  quietly,  take  things 
easily." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  all  right.  When  I  am  mar- 
ried everything  will  be  easy,"  she  said  almost 


TWILIGHT  249 

placently.  And  then  in  plaintive  explanation  or 
apology  added,  "  I  bear  pain  so  badly." 

"  And  I  may  go  on  doctoring  you?  " 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  send  to  Pineland  if  I 
should  feel  not  quite  well,"  she  answered  seriously. 
"  We  are  going  to  live  in  London." 

"  I'll  come  up  to  London.  There  is  no  difficulty 
about  that.  I've  started  reading  for  my  M.D.  I 
can  get  back  to  my  old  hospital."  She  rallied  him 
a  little  and  then  sent  him  away. 

"  I  shall  expect  to  hear  you  are  house  physician 
when  I  return  from  my  honeymoon !  " 

"  May  I  come  up  in  the  morning  ?  I  want  to 
hear  that  attack  has  not  recurred." 

"  The  morning  is  a  long  way  off,  the  night  has 
to  be  got  through  first."  Suddenly  she  remembered 
her  panic  and  had  a  faint  recrudescence  of  fear. 
"  I've  so  many  things  on  my  mind.  I  wish  you 
could  ensure  me  a  good  night." 

"  But  I  can,"  he  said  eagerly.    "  I  can  easily." 

"  And  without  after-effects?  " 

"  Without  any  bad  after-effects." 

"  The  bromide !  but  it  always  makes  me  feel  dull 
and  stupid." 

"Veronal?" 

"  I  am  frightened  of  veronal." 

"  Adolin,  paraldehyde,  trional,  a  small  injec- 
tion of  morphia  ?  " 


250  TWILIGHT 

"  But  it  is  so  late.  You  would  have  to  get  any- 
thing from  a  chemist." 

"  No,  I  shouldn't.     I've  got  my  case." 

"Your  case!" 

"  Yes."  He  showed  it  to  her,  full  of  strange 
little  bottles  and  unknown  drugs.  She  showed  in- 
terest, asking  what  was  this  or  the  other,  then 
changing  her  mind  suddenly : 

"  No,  I  won't  try  any  experiments.  I'll  sleep,  or 
I'll  stay  awake." 

"You  don't  trust  me?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  but  I  distrust  drugs.  Unless  I  am 
in  pain,  then  I  would  take  anything.  Tell  me,  can 
you  really  always  help  me  if  I  get  into  pain? 
Would  you  ?  At  any  risk  ?  " 

"  At  any  risk  to  myself,  not  at  any  risk  to 
you.  But  we  won't  talk  of  pain,  it  mustn't  hap- 
pen." 

"But  if  it  did?"  she  persisted. 

"  Don't  fear,  I  couldn't  see  you  in  pain." 

"  Yet  I've  always  heard  and  sometimes  seen 
how  callous  doctors  are." 

"  But  I'm  not  only  a  doctor  .  .  ." 

"  Hush !  I  thought  we  had  agreed  you  were. 
My  very  good  and  concerned  doctor.  Now  you 
really  must  go.  Yes,  you  can  come  up  in  the 
morning." 

"  You  will  take  your  bromide  ?  " 

"If  I  need  it.    Good-night!" 


TWILIGHT  251 

Margaret  slept  well.  But  she  heard  from  Stevens 
again  next  morning  over  her  toilette  that  cook  was 
not  to  be  trusted,  should  be  got  rid  of,  that  she 
was  deceitful,  had  been  seen,  after  all,  with  the 
shabby  man  from  London. 

"  She  took  her  oath  that  she'd  never  mentioned 
you  to  him,  you  nor  your  visitors,  only  Dr.  Ken- 
nedy who  attends  you.  But  I'd  not  believe  her 
oath.  A  hat  with  feathers  she  had  on,  and  a  ring 
on  her  ringer  when  she  went  out  with  him.  Such 
goings-on  are  not  fit  for  a  respectable  Christian 
house,  and  so  I  told  her." 

Margaret  listened  inattentively,  and  irritably. 
She  did  not  want  ever  to  think  again  of  that  shabby 
man  or  her  own  unreasoned  fears.  She  bade  the 
maid  be  silent,  attend  to  her  duties.  Stevens  sniffed 
and  grumbled  under  her  breath.  Afterwards  she 
asked  if  the  doctor  were  coming  up  again  this 
morning. 

"Why?" 

"  He  might  want  to  sound  you.  You'd  best  have 
your  Valenciennes  slip." 

"  Don't  be  so  absurd." 

Nevertheless  the  query  set  her  thinking  of  Peter 
Kennedy  and  his  love  for  her.  Desultory  thinking 
connects  itself  naturally  with  a  leisurely  toilette. 
She  was  sorry  for  Peter  and  composed  phrases  for 
him,  comforting  noncommittal  phrases.  She 
thought  it  would  do  him  good  to  get  to  London,  his 


252  TWILIGHT 

ideas  wanted  expanding,  his  provincialisms  brushed 
off.  She  was  under  the  impression  she  would  do 
great  things  for  Peter  one  day,  let  him  into  her 
circle;  that  salon  she  and  Gabriel  would  hold.  Her 
father  should  consult  him,  she  would  help  him  to 
build  up  a  practice. 

When  he  came  up,  later  on,  she  told  him  some- 
thing of  her  good  intentions.  They  did  not  interest 
him  very  much,  it  was  not  service  he  wanted  from 
her.  He  heard  her  night  had  been  good,  that  she 
felt  rested  and  better  this  morning.  He  had  not 
been  told  what  had  disturbed  the  last  one.  They 
were  sitting  together  in  the  drawing-room,  doctor 
and  patient,  when  the  parlourmaid  came  in  with 
a  card.  Margaret  looked  at  it  and  laughed,  passed 
it  over  to  him. 

"  That's  Anne,"  she  said.  "  Anne  evidently 
thinks  I  am  a  hopeful  subject." 

The  card  bore  the  name  of  "  Mrs.  Roope,  Chris- 
tian Healer." 

"  Stay  and  see  her  with  me,"  she  said  to  Peter. 
"  It  will  be  almost  like  a  consultation,  won't  it  ? 
.,'  .  .  Yes,"  she  told  the  parlourmaid,  "  I  will  see 
the  lady.  Let  her  come  up.  Now,  Peter  Kennedy, 
is  opportunity  to  show  your  quality,  your  tact.  I 
expect  to  be  amused,  I  want  to  be  amused." 

Peter  was  not  loath  to  stay,  whatever  the  excuse. 

Mrs.  Roope,  tall,  and  dressed  something  like  a 
hospital  nurse,  in  long  flowing  cloak  and  bonnet  with 


TWILIGHT  253 

veil,  was  ushered  in,  but  delayed  a  little  in  her 
greeting,  because  that  hysterical  affection  of  the 
throat  of  which  Anne  had  spoken,  caught  and  held 
her,  and  at  first  she  could  only  make  uncanny 
noises,  something  between  a  hiccough  and  a  bad 
stammer. 

"  I've  come  to  see  you,"  she  said  not  once  but 
several  times  without  getting  any  further. 

"  Sit  down,"  Margaret  said  good-naturedly. 
"  This  is  my  doctor.  I  would  suggest  you  ask  him 
to  cure  your  affliction,  only  I  understand  you  prefer 
your  own  methods." 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  said  the 
Christian  Scientist  with  an  unavoidable  contortion. 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Margaret,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  humour. 

"  I  would  prefer  that  this  interview  should  take 
place  without  witnesses." 

Margaret  found  that  a  little  surprising,  but  even 
then  she  was  not  disturbed.  There  was  no  con- 
nection in  her  mind  between  Anne  Stanton's  healer 
and  the  shabby  man  who  had  wooed  her  cook. 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  this  gentleman,"  she 
answered,  her  eyes  still  laughing.  "  He  has  no 
prejudice  against  you  irregular  practitioners.  You 
can  decide  together  what  is  to  be  done  for  me.  He 
is  my  present  physician." 

"  I  had  thought  he  was  " — bupp,  bupp,  explo- 
sion— "  your  co-respondent," 


254  TWILIGHT 

When  she  said  that  Peter  Kennedy  looked  up. 
He  tingled  all  over  and  his  forehead  flushed.  He 
made  a  step  forward  and  then  stood  still.  His 
instinct  told  him  here  was  an  enemy,  an  enemy  of 
Margaret's.  He  looked,  too,  at  Margaret. 

"  Your  name  is  Gabriel  Stanton." 

"  My  name  is  Peter  Kennedy." 

Margaret's  quick  mind  leapt  to  the  truth,  saw, 
and  foresaw  what  was  coming.  She  turned  very 
pale,  as  if  she  had  been  struck.  Peter  Kennedy 
moved  nearer  to  her. 

"  Shall  I  turn  her  out?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Roope  fanned  herself  with  her  bonnet 
strings  as  if  she  had  said  nothing  unusual. 

"  You  had  better  see  me  alone,"  she  said,  not 
menacingly  but  as  if  she  had  established  her  point. 
To  save  repetition  the  rest  of  her  conversation 
can  be  recorded  without  the  affliction  that  re- 
tarded it. 

"  No,"  Margaret  answered,  her  courage  at  low 
ebb.  "  Stay  where  you  are,"  she  said  to  Peter 
Kennedy. 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  am  going,  do  you  ?  "  he 
asked.  Mrs.  Roope,  after  a  glance,  ignored 
him. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  that  you  have  been 
under  observation  for  some  time.  My  call  on  you 
is  one  of  kindness,  of  kindness  only.  James  Capel 
is  my  husband's  cousin." 


TWILIGHT  255 

At  the  name  of  James  Capel  Margaret  gave  a 
little  low  cry  and  Peter  Kennedy  sat  down  by  her 
side,  abruptly. 

"  We  heard  you  were  being  visited  by  Gabriel 
Stanton  and  a  watch  was  set  upon  you.  Your  de- 
cree is  not  yet  made  absolute.  It  never  will  be  now, 
if  the  King's  Proctor  is  informed.  James,  I  know, 
does  not  wish  for  a  divorce  from  you." 

Margaret  sat  very  still  and  speechless, — any 
movement,  she  knew,  might  bring  on  that  sickening 
pain.  Peter  too  realised  the  position,  although  he 
had  so  little  to  guide  him. 

"  Answer  her.  Don't  let  her  think  you  are  afraid. 
It's  blackmail  she's  after.  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he 
whispered  to  his  patient.  Thus  strengthened  Mar- 
garet made  an  effort  for  self-control.  Peter  saw 
then  that  the  fear  was  not  as  new  to  her  as  it  was 
to  him. 

"  So  it  is  you  who  have  been  having  this  house 
watched  ?  Is  it  perhaps  your  husband  who  has  been 
making  love  to  my  cook  ?  "  Since  Peter  Kennedy 
was  here  she  would  not  show  the  cold  fear  at  her 
heart.  Mrs.  Roope  was  not  offended.  She  had 
been  kicked  out  of  too  many  houses  by  irate 
fathers,  brothers,  and  husbands  to  be  sensitive. 

"  No,  that  is  not  my  husband.  The  gentleman 
who  has  been  here  is  my  nephew.  As  for  making 
love  to  your  cook,  I  will  not  admit  it.  I  suggested 
your  maid." 


256  TWILIGHT 

"If  she  had  only  sent  her  husband  instead  of 
coming  herself.  One  can  talk  to  a  man." 

Peter  might  have  been  talking  to  himself.  He 
had  risen  and  now  was  walking  about  the  room  on 
soft-balled  feet  like  a  captive  panther. 

"  You  don't  know  our  religion,  our  creed.  We 
have  the  true  Christian  spirit  and  desire  to  help 
others.  The  sensual  cannot  be  made  the  mouthpiece 
of  the  spiritual.  Sensuality  palsies  the  right  hand 
and  causes  the  left  to  let  go  its  divine  grasp.  That 
is  why  I  interfere,  for  your  own  good  as  we  are 
enjoined.  Uncleanliness  must  lead  to  the  body's 
hurt,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  hurt.  But  mind  and 
matter  being  one,  what  hurts  the  one  will  hurt  the 
other." 

"  You  can  cut  the  cackle  and  come  to  the  horses," 
Peter  interrupted  rudely.  He  had  summed  up  the 
situation  and  thought  he  might  control  it.  To  him 
it  was  obvious  the  woman  was  a  common  black- 
mailer, although  she  had  formulated  no  terms. 
"  You  are  making  a  great  deal  of  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Stanton  has  been  down  here  two  or  three  times.  I 
suppose  you  know  he  is  Mrs.  Capel's  publisher." 

"  Do  not  interfere,  young  man.  You  are  a  mem- 
ber of  a  mendacious  profession.  I  am  not  here  to 
speak  to  you.  I  know  Gabriel  Stanton  slept  in  the 
house,"  she  said  to  Margaret. 

"What  then?  Show  us  your  foul  mind,  if  you 
dare." 


TWILIGHT  257 

"  There  is  no  mind  .  .  ." 

"  Oh !  damn  your  jargon.  What  have  you  come 
here  for  ?  What  do  you  want  ? "  He  stopped 
opposite  to  her  in  his  restless  walking.  There  shot 
a  gleam  of  avarice  into  her  dull  eye. 

"Is  he  your  mouthpiece?"  she  asked  Margaret, 
who  nodded  her  assent.  "  I  want  nothing  for  my- 
self." 

"For  whom,  then?" 

"  The  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire.  .  .  .  Our 
Church  .  .  ." 

"  You  call  it  a  church,  do  you  ?  And  you  are 
short  of  cash.  There  are  not  enough  silly  women, 
half-witted  men.  You  want  money  .  .  ." 

"  For  the  promulgation  of  our  tenets."  She  in- 
terrupted. "  Yes,  we  need  money  for  that,  for  the 
regeneration  of  the  world." 

"  And  to  keep  your  own  house  going." 

"  Your  insults  do  not  touch  me.  I  am  uplifted 
from  them.  Nothing  touches  the  true  believer." 

Margaret  called  him  over  to  her  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  Find  out  whether  James  knows  anything  of  this 
or  whether  she  is  acting  on  her  own;  what  she 
really  wants.  I  can't  talk  to  her." 

Mrs.  Roope  went  on  talking  and  spluttering  out 
texts. 

"  Cannot  you  see  that  Mrs.  Capel  is  ill?  "  he  said 
angrily. 


258  TWILIGHT 

The  Christian  Healer  was  quick  to  take  the  open- 
ing he  gave  her. 

"  Sickness  is  a  growth  of  error,  springing  from 
man's  ignorance  of  Christian  Science." 

"Oh!  more  rot — rot — rot,  rot!  Shut  it!  What 
we  want  to  know  is  if  there  is  any  one  in  this  but 
yourself.  We  don't  admit  a  word  of  truth  in  your 
allegations.  They  are  lies,  and  we  have  no  doubt 
you  know  they  are  lies." 

"  Mrs.  Capel  will  make  her  own  deductions. 
What  have  you  to  do  with  it,  young  man  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  have  to  do  with  it.  I  am 
here  to  protect  this  lady." 

"  Mr.  Capel  and  his  lawyer  will  understand." 

"  That  isn't  what  you  came  down  here  to  say." 

"  I  knew  that  I  should  be  guided.  I  prayed  about 
it  with  my  husband." 

"  A  pretty  sight !  '  The  Blackmailers'  Prayer ! ' 
How  it  must  have  stank  to  Heaven !  And  this  fel- 
low here  ?  " 

"  My  nephew.  An  honourable  young  man,  one 
of  the  believers." 

"  He  would  be.  What's  the  proverb?  Bon  sang 
ne  pent  pas  mentir.  Well,  for  the  whole  lot  of  you, 
your  prayerful  husband,  your  honourable  nephew, 
and  yourself  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  you  are  asking  me?  " 

"  As  you  are  here  and  not  with  James  Capel  it 
is  fair  to  presume  you've  got  your  price.  Mrs.  Capel 


TWILIGHT  259 

does  not  wish  to  argue  or  defend  herself,  she  wants 
to  be  left  alone.  You  don't  know  anything  because 
there  is  nothing  to  know.  But  I  daresay  you  could 
make  mischief.  What  are  you  asking  to  keep  your 
venomous  mouth  shut?  There  is  no  good  beating 
about  the  bush  or  talking  Christian  Science.  Come 
to  the  point.  How  much  ?  " 

"  A  thousand  pounds !  "  They  were  both  star- 
tled, but  Peter  spoke  first. 

"  That  be  damned  for  a  tale."  A  most  unedify- 
ing  dialogue  ensued.  Then  Peter  said,  after  a  short 
whispered  colloquy  with  Margaret : 

"  She  will  give  you  a  hundred  pounds,  no  more 
and  no  less.  Come,  close,  or  leave  it  alone.  A 
hundred  pounds !  Take  it  or  leave  it." 

Margaret  would  have  interrupted.  "  I  said 
double,"  she  whispered.  He  translated  it  quickly: 

"  Not  a  farthing  more,  she  says.  She  has  made 
up  her  mind.  Either  that  or  clear  out  and  do  your 
damnedest." 

Sarah  Roope  stood  out  for  her  price  until  she 
nearly  exhausted  his  patience,  would  have  ex- 
hausted it  but  that  Margaret,  terrified,  kept  urging 
and  soothing  him.  Before  the  end  Mrs.  Roope 
said  a  word  that  justified  him — and  he  put  his  two 
hands  on  her  shoulders.  He  made  no  point  now  of 
her  being  a  woman.  There  are  times  when  a  man's 
brutality  stands  him  in  good  stead,  and  this  was 
one  of  such  occasions. 


260  TWILIGHT 

"  Get  out  of  that  chair,"  he  jerked  it  away  from 
her.  "  Out  of  her  presence.  You'll  deal  with  me, 
or  not  at  all." 

He  slid  his  hands  from  her  shoulders  to  under 
her  elbows :  the  noises  she  made  in  her  throat  were 
indescribable,  but  her  actual  resistance  was  small. 

"  You  are  not  to  sit  down  in  her  presence." 

"  I  prefer  to  stand." 

"  Nor  stand  either.  Outside  .  .  ."  he  bundled 
her  towards  the  door,  she  tried  to  hold  her  ground, 
but  he  forced  her  along.  "  We've  had  nearly 
enough  of  you,  very  nearly  enough.  You  wait  out- 
side that  door.  I'll  have  a  word  with  Mrs.  Capel 
and  give  you  your  last  chance."  She  bup — ped  out 
her  remonstrance. 

"  I  came  here  to  do  her  a  service.  As  Mrs.  Eddy 
writes :  '  Light  and  darkness  cannot  mingle.'  I 
must  do  as  I  am  guided,  and  I  said  from  the  first 
we  should  go  to  James  Capel.  Husband  and  wife 
should  never  separate  if  there  is  no  Christian  de- 
mand for  it." 

"Oh!  goto  hell!" 

He  shut  the  door  in  her  face  and  came  back  to 
Margaret. 

"  You'd  better  let  me  get  rid  of  her  for  you.  I 
shouldn't  pay  her  a  brass  farthing." 

"  I'd  pay  her  anything,  anything,  rather  than  go 
through  again  what  I  went  through  before."  She 
burst  into  tears. 


TWILIGHT  261 

"  Oh !  if  that's  the  case  .  .  ."  he  said  indecisively. 

"  Pay  her  what  she  wants." 

"  I  can  get  her  down  a  good  bit."  He  had  no 
definite  idea  but  to  stop  her  'tears,  carry  out  her 
wishes.  In  a  measure  he  acted  cleverly,  going 
backward  and  forward  between  dining  and  drawing- 
room  negotiating  terms.  Mrs.  Roope  said  she  had 
no  wish  to  expose  Mrs.  Capel,  and  repeated,  "  I 
came  here  to  do  her  a  kindness." 

In  the  end  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  was 
agreed  upon,  a  hundred  down  and  a  hundred  and 
fifty  when  the  decree  was  made  absolute,  this  latter 
represented  by  a  post-dated  cheque.  Peter  had  to 
write  the  cheques  himself,  it  was  as  much  as  Mar- 
garet could  do  to  sign  them.  Her  hands  were  shak- 
ing and  her  eyelids  red,  the  sight  swept  away  all 
his  conventions. 

"  You've  got  to  go  to  bed  and  stay  there,"  he  told 
her  when  he  came  back  to  her  finally.  He  forgot 
everything  but  that  she  looked  terribly  ill  and  ex- 
hausted, and  that  he  was  her  physician.  "  You 
need  not  have  a  minute's  more  anxiety.  I  know  the 
type.  She  has  gone.  She  won't  bother  you  again. 
She's  taken  her  hundred  pounds.  That's  a  lot  to 
the  woman  who  makes  her  money  by  shillings. 
That  absent  treatment  business  is  a  pound  a  week  at 
the  outside.  There's  a  limited  number  of  fools  who 
pay  for  isolated  visits.  Did  you  see  her  boots? 
They  didn't  look  like  affluence!  and  her  cotton 


262  TWILIGHT 

gloves!  She  will  have  another  hundred  and  fifty 
if  nothing  comes  out,  if  she  keeps  her  mouth  shut 
until  the  3Oth  of  May.  You  are  quite  safe.  Don't 
look  so  woebegone.  I  ...  I  can't  bear  it." 

He  turned  his  back  to  her. 

"What  will  Gabriel  say?" 

"  The  most  priggish  thing  he  can  think  of,"  he 
answered  roughly. 

"  He  doesn't  look  at  things  in  the  same  way  you 
do." 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  his  superiority  ?  " 

"  Now  you  are  angry,  offended." 

"  You've  done  the  right  thing.  You  are  not  in 
the  health  for  any  big  annoyance." 

She  was  holding  her  side  with  both  hands. 

"  I  believe  the  pain  is  coming  on  again." 

"  Oh ;  no,  it  isn't."  But  he  moved  nearer  to  her. 
No  contradiction  or  denial  warded  off  the  attack. 
She  bore  it  badly  too,  pulse  and  colour  evidencing 
her  collapse.  Hurriedly  and  perhaps  without  suffi- 
cient thought  he  rang  for  Stevens,  called  for  hot 
water,  gave  her  her  first  injection  of  morphia. 

Stevens  knew  or  guessed  what  had  been  going  on, 
and  took  a  gloomy  view.  Every  one  in  the  house 
knew  of  Mrs.  Roope's  visit. 

"  It  will  be  the  death  of  her." 

"  No,  it  won't,"  he  said  savagely.  "  You  do  what 
you  are  told." 

"  I  'ope  I  know  my  duty,"  she  replied  primly. 


TWILIGHT  263 

"  I'm  sure  you  do,  but  not  the  effect  of  a  morphia 
injection,"  he  retorted. 

He  said  Stevens  knew  nothing  of  the  effect  of  a 
morphia  injection,  but  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  it 
himself  in  those  days  and  with  such  a  patient.  The 
immediate  effect  was  instantaneous.  Margaret 
grew  easier,  she  smiled  at  him  with  her  pale  lips : 

"  How  wonderful,"  she  said.  He  made  her 
stay  as  she  was  for  half  an  hour,  then  helped  to 
carry  her  to  bed.  Stevens  said  she  required  no 
help  in  undressing  her. 

"  You  are  not  to  let  her  do  a  thing  for  herself, 
not  to  let  her  move.  Give  her  iced  milk,  or  milk 
and  soda.  .  .  ." 

The  afternoon  was  not  so  satisfactory,  there  were 
disquieting  symptoms,  and  not  the  sleep  for  which 
he  hoped.  He  suggested  Dr.  Lansdowne,  but  she 
would  not  hear  of  him  being  sent  for.  When  night 
fell  he  found  it  impossible  to  leave  her. 

He  walked  up  and  down  outside  the  house  for  a 
long  time,  only  desisting  when  Margaret  herself 
sent  down  a  message  that  she  heard  his  footsteps 
on  the  gravel  and  they  disturbed  her.  The  rest  of 
the  night  he  spent  on  the  drawing-room  sofa,  run- 
ning upstairs  to  listen  outside  her  bedroom  door, 
now  and  then,  to  reassure  himself.  Tomorrow  he 
knew  Gabriel  would  be  there  and  he  would  not  be 
needed.  But  tonight  she  had  no  one  but  himself. 
Wild  thoughts  came  to  him  in  the  dawn.  What  if 


264  TWILIGHT 

Gabriel  Stanton  were  not  such  a  good  fellow  after 
all?  What  if  he  were  put  off  by  the  thought  of  a 
scandal  and  figuring  as  a  co-respondent  ?  He,  Peter, 
would  stick  to  her  through  thick  and  thin.  She 
might  turn  to  him,  get  to  care. 

But  he  had  not  an  ounce  of  real  hope.  He  was 
as  humble  as  Gabriel  by  now,  and  the  nearer  to 
being  a  true  lover. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MARGARET  was  not  a  very  good  subject  for  morphia. 
True  it  relieved  her  pain,  set  her  mind  at  rest,  or 
deadened  her  nerve  centres  for  the  time.  But  when 
the  immediate  effect  wore  off  she  was  intolerably 
restless,  and  although  the  bromide  tided  her  over 
the  night,  she  drowsed  through  an  exhausted  morn- 
ing and  woke  to  sickness  and  misery,  to  depression 
and  a  tendency  towards  tears.  She  was  utterly 
unable  to  see  her  lover,  she  felt  she  could  not  face 
him,  meet  him,  conceal  or  reveal  what  had  hap- 
pened. Dr.  Kennedy  came  up  and  she  told  him 
exactly  how  she  felt.  She  told  him  also  that 
he  must  go  to  the  station  in  her  stead.  She  said  she 
was  too  broken,  too  ill. 

This  unnerved  and  weakened  Margaret  distracted 
Peter,  and  he  thought  of  every  drug  in  the  phar- 
macopoeia in  the  way  of  a  pick-me-up.  He  said 
that  of  course  he  would  go  to  the  station,  go  any- 
where, do  anything  she  asked  him.  But,  he  added 
gloomily,  that  he  would  probably  blunder  and  make 
things  worse. 

"  He  would  ever  so  much  rather  hear  it  from 
you  if  it  must  be  told  him,"  he  urged.  "  He'll 
guess  you  are  ill  when  you  are  not  at  the  station. 

265 


266  TWILIGHT 

He'll  rush  up  here  and  see  you  and  everything  will 
be  all  right.  He  has  only  got  to  see  you." 

Dr.  Kennedy  then  begged  her  to  go  back  to  bed, 
but  without  effect.  Fortunately  the  only  drug  to 
which  he  could  ultimately  persuade  her  was  car- 
bonate of  soda!  That  and  a  strong  cup  of  coffee 
helped  to  revive  her.  Stevens  had  the  qualities  of 
her  defects  and  insisted  later  upon  beef  tea.  Mar- 
garet, although  still  looking  ill,  was  really  almost 
normal  when  four  o'clock  came  bringing  Gabriel. 
Her  plan  of  Peter  Kennedy  meeting  him  mis- 
carried, and  she  need  not  have  feared  his  anxiety 
when  she  was  not  at  the  station.  Gabriel  had  caught 
an  earlier  train  than  usual.  Ever  since  Tuesday  his 
anxiety  had  been  growing,  notwithstanding  her  let- 
ters and  reassurances. 

He  was  dismayed  at  seeing  Dr.  Kennedy's  hat  in 
the  hall.  Little  more  so  than  Margaret  was  when 
she  heard  the  wheels  of  the  car  on  the  gravel  and 
learnt  from  Peter,  at  the  window,  that  Gabriel  was 
in  it.  They  were  unprepared  for  each  other  when 
he  walked  in.  Yet  if  Peter  had  not  been  there  all 
might  still  have  been  well.  It  was  Dr.  Kennedy's 
instinct  to  stand  between  her  and  trouble,  and  his 
misfortune  to  stand  between  her  and  Gabriel 
Stanton. 

"You  are  ill?"  and 

"  You  are  early?  "  came  from  each  of  them  simul- 
taneously. If  the  doctor  had  slipped  out  of  the 


TWILIGHT  267 

room  they  would  perhaps  have  found  more  to  say. 
But  he  stayed  and  joined  in  that  short  dialogue, 
thinking  he  was  meeting  her  wishes. 

"  She  has  had  an  attack  of  angina,  a  pretty  hot 
one  at  that.  I  gave  her  a  morphia  injection  and  it 
did  not  suit  her.  She  is  simply  not  fit  for  any  emo- 
tion or  excitement.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  ought 
not  to  be  out  of  bed  today." 

"  Has  my  coming  by  an  earlier  train  distressed 
you  ? "  Gabriel  asked  Margaret,  perhaps  a  little 
coldly.  Certainly  not  as  he  would  have  asked  her 
had  they  been 'alone.  Nor  were  matters  improved 
when  she  answered  faintly: 

"  Tell  him,  Peter." 

Her  lover  wanted  to  hear  nothing  that  Peter  Ken- 
nedy might  tell  him.  He  was  startled  when  she  used 
his  Christian  name.  He  had  a  distaste  at  hearing 
his  fiancee's  health  discussed,  a  sensitiveness  not  un- 
natural. From  an  older  or  more  impersonal  physi- 
cian he  might  have  minded  it  less ;  or  from  one  who 
had  not  admitted  to  him,  and  gloried  in  the  admis- 
sion, that  he  was  in  love  with  his  patient. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  that  Dr.  Ken- 
nedy can  tell  me,"  was  what  he  said,  but  it  mis- 
represented his  mind.  It  sounded  sullen  or  ill- 
tempered,  but  was  neither,  only  an  inarticulate  evi- 
dence of  distress  of  mind. 

"  Surely,  Margaret,  your  news  can  wait  .  .  ." 
This  was  added  in  a  lower  tone.  But  Margaret  was 


268  TWILIGHT 

beyond,  and  Peter  Kennedy  impervious  to  hint. 
The  only  thing  that  softened  the  situation  to  Ga- 
briel was  that  she  made  room  for  him  on  the  sofa, 
by  a  gesture  inviting  him  to  seat  himself  there.  Al- 
most he  pretended  not  to  see  it,  he  felt  rigid  and 
uncompromising.  Nevertheless,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  he  found  himself  beside  her,  listening  to 
Dr.  Kennedy's  unwelcome  voice. 

"  You  knew,  didn't  you,  that  there  had  been  a 
man  hanging  about  the  place,  trying  to  get  in- 
formation from  the  servants  ?  Margaret  first  heard 
of  this  last  Tuesday.  .  .  ."  Gabriel  missed  the  next 
sentence.  That  the  fellow  should  speak  of  her  as 
"  Margaret "  made  him  see  red.  When  his  vision 
cleared  Peter  was  still  talking.  There  had  been 
some  allusion  to  or  description  of  cook's  weakness, 
and  the  discursiveness  was  a  fresh  offence. 

"  What  she  told  him  in  her  amorous  moments 
we  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but  that  it  included 
the  information  that  you  had  stayed  in  the  house 
there  is  not  much  reason  to  doubt.  And  down  came 
this  woman  like  a  ton  of  bricks  on  Wednesday 
morning  and  flung  a  bomb  on  us  in  the  shape  of  a 
demand  for  a  thousand  pounds." 

"What  woman?" 

'  The  man's  employer.  She  had  set  him  on 
to  it." 

"Who?" 

"  This  blackmailing  person." 


TWILIGHT  269 

The  "  us  "  tightened  Gabriel's  thin  lips  and  hard- 
ened his  deep-set  eyes.  Had  they  been  alone  he 
might  have  remembered  what  Margaret  must  have 
suffered,  what  a  dreadful  thing  this  visit  must  have 
been  to  her.  As  it  was,  and  for  the  moment,  he 
thought  of  nothing  but  of  Peter  Kennedy's  inter- 
vention, interference. 

"  Why  did  you  see  her?  "  he  asked  Margaret. 

"  I  thought  she  came  from  Anne,"  she  faltered. 

"  From  Anne !  " 

"  She  is  the  Christian  Science  woman,"  Peter 
explained. 

And  now  indeed  the  full  force  of  the  blow  struck 
him. 

"  Mrs.  Roope  ?  "  he  got  out. 

"  No  other,"  Peter  answered.  "  Crammed  choke- 
full  of  extracts  from  Mrs.  Eddy.  James  Capel  is 
her  husband's  cousin.  At  least  so  she  says.  And 
that  he  never  wanted  to  be  divorced  from  his  wife, 
and  would  welcome  a  chance  of  stopping  the  decree 
from  being  made  absolute.  She  said  the  higher 
morality  bade  her  go  to  him.  '  Husband  and  wife 
should  never  separate  if  there  is  no  Christian  de- 
mand for  it,'  she  quoted.  But  help  toward  the 
Christian  Science  Church,  or  movement,  she  would 
construe  as  '  a  Christian  demand.'  She  asked  for 
a  thousand  pounds!  Mrs.  Capel,"  this  time  for 
some  unknown  reason  he  said  "  Mrs.  Capel "  and 
Gabriel  heard  better,  "  was  quite  overwhelmed, 


270  TWILIGHT 

knocked  to  pieces  by  her  impudence.  That's  when 
I  came  on  the  scene.  I  told  the  woman  what  I 
thought  of  her ;  you  may  bet  I  didn't  mince  matters. 
And  then  I  offered  her  a  hundred  .  .  ." 

Gabriel  got  up  suddenly,  abruptly,  his  face 
flushed. 

"  You  .  .  .  you  offered  her  a  hundred  pounds  ?  " 

"  Well !  there  was  not  a  bit  of  good  trying  for 
less.  It  was  a  round  sum." 

"  You  allowed  Mrs.  Capel  to  be  blackmailed !  " 

"  What  would  you  have  done?    Of  course  I  did." 

"  It  was  disgraceful,  indefensible." 

"  Gabriel."  She  called  him  by  his  name,  she 
wanted  him  to  sit  down  by  her,  but  he  remained 
standing.  "  There  was  no  time  to  send  for  any 
one,  ask  for  advice  .  .  ." 

"  It  was  a  case  of  '  your  money  or  your  life/ 
The  woman  put  a  pistol  to  our  heads.  '  Pay  up  or 
I'll  take  my  tale  to  James  Capel '  was  the  beginning 
and  end  of  what  she  said.  I  got  her  down  finally 
to  £250.' 

"  You  gave  the  woman,  this  infamous,  black- 
mailing person,  £250?  " 

"  And  cheap  enough  too.  Wait  a  bit.  I  can 
guess  what  you  are  thinking.  I'm  not  such  a  fool 
as  you  take  me  for.  She  only  had  a  hundred  in 
cash,  the  other  is  a  post-dated  cheque,  not  due  until 
the  decree  is  made  absolute.  Then  I  ran  her  out 
of  the  house." 


TWILIGHT  271 

"Who  wrote  those  cheques?"  The  flush  deep- 
ened, Gabriel  could  hardly  control  his  voice. 

"  I  wrote  them  and  Mrs.  Capel  signed  them.  She 
was  absolutely  bowled  over,  it  was  as  much  as  she 
could  do  to  sign  her  name." 

Gabriel  was  beside  himself  or  he  would  not  have 
spoken  as  he  did. 

"  You  did  an  infamous  thing,  sir,  an  infamous 
thing.  You  should  have  guarded  this  lady,  since  I 
was  not  here,  sheltered  her  innocence.  To  allow 
oneself  to  be  blackmailed  is  an  admission  of  guilt. 
The  way  you  sheltered  her  innocence  was  to  advise 
her  practically  to  admit  guilt."  He  was  choked  with 
anger. 

"  Gabriel,"  she  pleaded. 

"  My  dear,"  never  had  he  spoken  to  her  in  such 
a  way,  he  seemed  hardly  to  remember  she  was 
there,  "  I  acquit  you  entirely.  You  did  not  know 
what  you  were  doing,  could  not  be  expected  to 
know.  But  this  fellow,  this  blackguard  .  .  ."  He 
actually  advanced  a  step  or  two  toward  him, 
threateningly.  "  Her  good  name  was  at  stake,  mine 
as  well  as  hers,  was  and  is  at  stake." 

"  And  I  saved  it  for  you,  for  both  of  you.  I've 
shut  Mrs.  Roope's  mouth.  You'll  never  hear  a 
word  more  .  .  ." 

"  Not  hear  more  ? "  Gabriel  was  deeply  con- 
temptuous. "  Did  you  ever  know  a  blackmailer 


272  TWILIGHT 

who  was  satisfied  with  the  first  blood?  You  have 
opened  the  door  wide  to  her  exactions  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  taking  an  entirely  wrong  view,  you 
are  prejudiced.  Because  you  don't  like  me  you 
blame  me  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong." 

"  You  don't  know  the  difference  between  right 
and  wrong." 

"  I  wasn't  going  to  have  my  patient  upset,"  he 
said  obstinately. 

"  Gabriel,  listen  to  me,  hear  me.  Don't  be  so  an- 
gry with  Peter.  /  wanted  the  woman  paid  to  keep 
quiet.  I  insisted  upon  her  being  paid."  And  then 
under  her  breath  she  said,  "There  is  such  a  little 
time  more." 

"  There  is  all  our  lives,"  Gabriel  answered  in  that 
deep  outraged  voice.  "  All  our  lives  it  will  be  a 
stain  that  money  was  paid.  As  if  we  had  some- 
thing to  conceal." 

His  point  of  view  was  not  theirs,  neither  Peter's 
nor  Margaret's.  They  argued  and  protested,  justi- 
fying themselves  and  each  other.  But  it  seemed  to 
Gabriel  there  was  no  argument.  When  Margaret 
pleaded  he  had  to  listen,  to  hold  himself  in  hand, 
to  say  as  little  as  possible.  Toward  Peter  Kennedy 
he  was  irreconcilable.  "  A  man  ought  to  have 
known,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"  He  wanted  to  ward  off  an  attack." 

Dr.  Kennedy  went  away  ultimately,  he  had  that 
amount  of  sense.  By  this  time  he  was  at  least  as 


TWILIGHT  273 

antagonistic  to  Gabriel  Stanton  as  Gabriel  to 
him. 

"  Stiff-necked  blighter !  He'd  talk  ethics  if  she 
were  dying.  What  does  it  matter  whether  it  was 
right  or  wrong?  Anyway,  I  got  rid  of  the  woman 
for  her,  set  her  mind  at  rest.  I  bet  my  way  was  as 
good  as  any  he'd  have  found !  Now  I  suppose  he'll 
argue  her  round  until  she  looks  upon  me  as  the 
villain  of  the  play."  In  which,  as  the  sequel  shows, 
he  wronged  his  lady  love.  "Insufferable  prig!" 
And  with  that  and  a  few  more  muttered  epithets 
he  went  off  to  endure  a  hideous  few  days,  fearing 
for  her  all  the  time,  in  the  hands  of  such  a  man  as 
Gabriel  Stanton,  whom  he  deemed  hard  and  self- 
righteous. 

But  he  need  not  have  feared.  The  two  men 
were  poles  apart  in  temperament,  education,  and 
environment.  Circumstances  aided  in  making 
them  intolerant  of  each  other.  Their  judgment 
was  biased.  Margaret  saw  them  both  more  clearly 
than  they  saw  each  other.  Her  lover  was  the 
stronger,  finer  man,  had  the  higher  standard.  And 
he  was  right,  right  this  time,  as  always.  Yet  she 
thought  sympathetically  of  the  other  and  the 
weakness  that  led  him  to  compromise.  The  Chris- 
tian Scientist  should  not  have  been  paid,  she  should 
have  been  prosecuted.  Margaret  saw  it  now, — she, 
too,  had  not  seen  it  at  the  moment.  She  confessed 
herself  a  coward. 


274  TWILIGHT 

"  But  our  happiness  was  at  stake,  our  whole  hap- 
piness. In  less  than  three  weeks  now  .  .  ." 

Now  that  they  were  alone  Gabriel  could  show  his 
quality.  The  thing  she  had  done  was  indefensible. 
And  he  had  hardly  a  hope  that  it  would  achieve  its 
object.  He,  himself,  would  not  have  done  evil  that 
good  might  come  of  it,  submitted,  admitted  .  .  . 
the  blood  rushed  to  his  face  and  he  could  not  trust 
himself  even  to  think  of  what  had  practically  been 
admitted.  But  she  had  done  it  for  love  of  him  to 
secure  their  happiness  together.  What  man  but 
would  be  moved  by  such  an  admission,  what  lover  ? 
He  could  not  hold  out  against  her,  nor  continue  to 
express  his  doubts. 

"  Must  we  talk  any  more  about  it  ?  I  can't  bear 
your  reproaches.  Gabriel,  don't  reproach  me  any 
more."  She  was  nestling  in  the  shelter  of  his  arms. 
"  You  know  why  I  did  it.  I  wish  you  would  be 
glad." 

"  My  darling,  I  wish  I  could  be.  It  was  not  your 
fault.  I  ought  to  have  come  down.  You  ought 
not  to  have  been  left  alone,  or  with  an  unscrupulous 
person  like  this  doctor." 

"  Peter  acted  according  to  his  lights.  He  did  it 
for  the  best,  he  thought  only  of  me." 

"  His  lights  are  darkness,  his  best  outrageous. 
Never  mind,  I  will  not  say  another  word,  only  you 
must  promise  me  faithfully,  swear  to  me  that  if  you 
do  hear  any  more  of  this  woman,  or  of  the  circum- 


TWILIGHT  275 

stance,  from  this  or  any  other  quarter,  you  will  do 
nothing  without  consulting  me,  you  will  send  for 
me  at  once  .  .  ." 

Margaret  promised,  Margaret  swore. 

"  I  want  to  lean  upon  your  strength.  I  have  so 
altered  I  don't  know  myself.  Love  has  loosened, 
weakened  me.  I  am  no  longer  as  I  was,  proud,  self- 
reliant.  Gabriel,  don't  let  me  be  sorry  that  I  love 
you.  I  am  startled  by  myself,  by  this  new  self. 
What  have  you  done  to  me?  Is  this  what  love 
means — weakness?  " 

When  she  said  she  needed  to  lean  upon  his 
strength  his  heart  ran  like  water  to  her.  When 
she  pleaded  to  him  for  forgiveness  because  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  be  blackmailed  rather  than  de- 
lay their  happiness  together,  his  tenderness  over- 
flowed and  flooded  the  rock  of  his  logic,  of  his 
clear  judgment.  His  arms  tightened  about  her. 

"  I  ought  to  have  come  to  you  whether  you  said 
yes  or  no.  I  knew  you  were  in  trouble." 

"  Not  any  longer."     She  nestled  to  him. 

"  God  knows  .  .  ." 

He  thrust  aside  his  misgivings  later  and  gave 
himself  up  to  soothing  and  nursing  her.  Peter 
Kennedy  need  have  had  no  fear,  but  then  of  course 
this  was  a  Gabriel  Stanton  he  did  not  know. 

Gabriel  would  not  hear  of  Margaret  coming 
down  to  dinner  nor  into  the  drawing-room.  She 
was  to  stay  on  the  sofa  in  the  music  room,  to  have 


276  TWILIGHT 

her  dinner  served  to  her  there.  He  said  he  would 
carve  for  her,  not  be  ten  minutes  away. 

"  All  this  trouble  has  made  me  forget  that  I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  No,  no !  Not  now,  not  until 
you  have  rested." 

"  I  can't  wait,  I  can't  wait.  Tell  me  now,  at  once. 
But  I  know.  I  know  by  your  face.  It  is  about 
our  little  house.  You  have  seen  a  house — our 
house!" 

"  Not  until  after  dinner.  I  must  not  tell  you  any- 
thing until  you  have  rested,  had  something  to  eat. 
You  have  been  too  agitated.  Dear  love,  you  have 
been  through  so  much.  Yes,  I  have  seen  the  house 
that  seems  to  have  been  built  for  us.  Don't  urge 
me  to  tell  you  now.  This  has  been  the  first  cloud 
that  has  come  between  us.  It  will  never  happen 
again.  You  will  keep  nothing  from  me." 

"  Haven't  I  promised  ?    Sworn  ?  "  • 

"  Sweetheart ! "  And  as  he  held  her  she  whis- 
pered : 

"  You  will  never  be  angry  with  me  again  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  angry  with  you.    How  could  I  be  ?  " 

She  smiled.  She  was  quite  happy  again  now,  and 
content. 

"  It  looked  like  anger." 

"  You  focussed  it  wrongly,"  he  answered. 

After  they  had  dined;  she  on  her  sofa  from  a 
tray  he  supervised  and  sent  up  to  her,  he  in  solitary 


TWILIGHT  277 

state  in  the  dining-room,  hurrying  through  the  food 
that  had  no  flavour  to  him  in  her  absence:  he  told 
her  about  the  little  house  in  Westminster  that  he 
had  seen,  and  that  seemed  to  fit  all  their  require- 
ments. It  was  very  early  eighteenth-century,  every 
brick  of  it  had  been  laid  before  Robert  Adam  and 
his  brother  went  to  Portland  Place,  the  walls  were 
panelled  and  the  mantelpieces  untouched.  They 
were  of  carved  wood  in  the  drawing-room,  painted 
alabaster  in  the  library  and  bedrooms,  marble  in  the 
dining-room  only.  It  was  almost  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  Abbey  and  there  was  a  tiny  courtyard 
or  garden.  Margaret  immediately  envisaged  it  tiled 
and  Dutch.  Gabriel  left  it  stone  and  defended  his 
opinion.  There  was  a  lead  figure  with  the  pretence 
of  a  fountain. 

"  I  could  hardly  believe  my  good  luck  when  first 
I  saw  the  place.  I  saw  you  there  at  once.  It  was 
just  as  you  had  described,  as  we  had  hoped  for, 
unique  and  perfect  in  its  way,  a  real  home.  It  needs 
very  careful  furnishing,  nothing  must  be  large,  nor 
handsome,  nor  on  an  elaborate  scale.  I  shall  find 
out  the  history,  when  it  was  built  and  for  whom. 
A  clergy  house,  I  think." 

She  was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  pressed  for  de- 
tail. Gabriel  had  to  admit  he  did  not  know  how  it 
was  lit,  nor  if  electric  light  had  been  installed.  He 
fancied  not.  Then  there  was  the  question  of  bath- 
room. Here  too  there  was  a  lapse  in  his  memory. 


278  TWILIGHT 

But  that  there  was  space  for  one  he  was  sure.    There 
was  a  powder  room  off  the  drawing-room. 

"  In  a  clergy  house?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  it  was  a  clergy  house." 

"  Or  that  there  is  a  powder  room !  " 

"  It  may  have  been  meant  for  books.'  Anyway, 
there  is  one  like  it  on  the  next  floor." 

"Where  a  bath  could  be  put?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  I  am  not  sure.  You  will  have 
to  see  it  yourself.  Nurse  yourself  for  a  few  days 
and  then  come  up." 

"  For  a  few  days !  That  is  good.  Why,  I  am 
all  right  now,  tonight.  There,  feel  my  pulse."  She 
put  her  hand  in  his  and  he  held  it;  her  hand,  not 
her  pulse. 

"Isn't  it  quite  calm?" 

"  I  don't  know  ...  7  am  not." 

"  I  shall  go  up  with  you  on  Monday  morning,  or 
by  the  next  train." 

He  argued  with  her,  tried  to  dissuade  her,  said 
she  was  still  pale,  fatigued.  But  the  words  had 
no  effect.  She  said  that  he  was  too  careful  of  her, 
and  he  replied  that  it  was  impossible. 

"  When  a  man  has  been  given  a  treasure  into  his 
keeping  .  .  ."  She  hushed  him. 

They  were  very  happy  tonight.  Gabriel  may  still 
have  had  a  misgiving.  He  knew  money  ought  never 
to  have  been  paid  as  blackmail.  That  the  trouble 
should  have  come  through  Anne,  Anne  and  her 


TWILIGHT  279 

mad  religion,  was  more  than  painful  to  him.  But 
true  to  promise  he  said  no  further  word.  He  had 
Margaret's  promise  that  if  anything  more  was  heard 
he  would  be  advised,  sent  for. 

When  he  went  back  to  the  hotel  that  night  he  com- 
forted himself  with  that,  tried  to  think  that  nothing 
further  would  be  heard.  Peter  Kennedy's  name 
had  not  been  mentioned  again  between  them.  He 
meant  to  persuade  her,  use  all  his  influence  that  she 
should  select  another  doctor.  That  would  be  for 
another  time.  Tonight  she  needed  only  care. 

He  had  taken  no  real  alarm  at  her  delicate  looks, 
he  had  lived  all  his  life  with  an  invalid.  As  for 
Margaret,  there  were  times  when  she  was  quite 
well,  in  exuberant  health  and  spirits.  She  was 
under  the  spell  of  her  nerves,  excitable,  she  had  the 
artistic  temperament  in  excelsis.  So  he  thought, 
and  although  he  felt  no  uneasiness  he  was  full  of 
consideration.  Before  he  had  left  her  tonight,  at 
ten  o'clock  for  instance,  and  notwithstanding  she 
wished  him  to  stay,  he  begged  her  to  rest  late  in 
the  morning,  said  he  would  be  quite  content  to  sit 
downstairs  and  await  her  coming,  to  read  or  only 
sit  still  and  think  of  her.  She  urged  the  complete- 
ness of  her  recovery,  but  he  persisted  in  treating 
her  as  an  invalid. 

;'  You  are  an  invalid  tonight,  my  poor  little  in- 
valid, you  must  go  to  bed  early.  Tomorrow  you 
are  to  be  convalescent,  and  we  will  go  down  to  the 


28o  TWILIGHT 

sea,  walk,  or  drive.     I  will  wrap  you  up  and  take 
care  of  you.     Monday  .  .  ." 

"  Monday  I  have  quite  decided  to  go  up  to  town." 

"  We  shall  see  how  you  are.  I  am  not  going  to 
allow  you  to  take  any  risks." 

Such  a  different  Gabriel  Stanton  from  the  one 
Peter  Kennedy  knew!  One  would  have  thought 
there  was  not  a  hard  spot  in  him.  Margaret  was 
sure  of  it  ...  almost  sure. 

The  morphia  that  had  failed  her  last  night  put 
out  its  latent  power  and  helped  her  through  this 
one.  The  dreams  that  came  to  her  were  all  pleasant, 
tinged  with  romance,  filled  with  brocade  and 
patches,  with  fair  women  and  gallant  men  in  pow- 
der and  knee-breeches.  No  man  was  more  gallant 
than  hers.  She  saw  Gabriel  that  night  idealised, 
as  King's  man  and  soldier,  poet,  lover,  on  the  stairs 
of  that  house  of  romance. 

The  next  day  was  superb,  spring  merging  into 
summer,  a  soft  breeze,  blue  sky  flecked  with  white, 
sea  that  fell  on  the  shore  with  convoluted  waves, 
foam-edged,  but  without  force.  Everything  in 
Nature  was  fresh  and  renewed,  not  calm,  but  with  a 
bursting  undergrowth,  and  one  would  have  thought 
Margaret  had  never  been  ill.  She  laughed  and  even 
lilted  into  light  song  when  Gabriel  feared  the 
piano  for  her.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  love  and 
laughter,  and  her  skin  seemed  to  have  upon  it  a 
new  and  childish  bloom,  lightly  tinged  with  rose, 


TWILIGHT  281 

clear  pale  and  exquisite.  Today  one  would  have 
said  she  was  more  child  than  woman,  and  that  life 
had  hardly  touched  her.  Not  touched  to  soil.  Yet 
beneath  her  lightness  now  and  again  Gabriel 
glimpsed  a  shadow,  or  a  silence,  rare  and  quickly 
passing.  This  he  placed  to  his  own  failure  of  tem- 
per yesterday,  and  set  himself  to  assuage  it.  He 
felt  deeply  that  he  was  responsible  for  her  happi- 
ness. As  she  said,  she  had  altered  greatly  since 
they  first  met.  In  a  way  she  had  grown  younger. 
This  was  not  her  first  passion,  but  it  was  her  first 
surrender.  That  there  was  an  unknown  in  him, 
an  uncompromising  rectitude,  had  as  it  were  but- 
tressed her  love.  She  had  pride  in  him  now  and 
pride  in  her  love  for  him.  For  the  first  and  only 
time  in  her  life  self  was  in  the  background.  He 
was  her  lover  and  was  soon  to  be  her  husband. 
Today  they  hardly  held  each  other's  hand,  or  kissed. 
Margaret  held  herself  lightly  aloof  from  him  and 
his  delicacy  understood  and  responded.  Their  hour 
was  so  near.  There  had  been  different  vibrations 
and  uneasy  moments  between  them,  but  now  they 
had  grown  steady  in  love. 

Margaret  went  up  to  town  with  Gabriel  on  Mon- 
day. She  forgot  all  about  Peter  Kennedy  eating 
his  heart  out  and  wondering  just  how  harsh  and 
dogmatic  Gabriel  Stanton  was  being  with  her. 
They  were  going  first  to  see  the  house. 

"  I  must  show  it  you  myself." 


282  TWILIGHT 

"  We  must  see  it  together  first." 

They  were  agreed  about  that.  Afterwards  Mar- 
garet had  decided  to  go  alone  to  Queen  Anne's 
Gate  and  make  full  confession.  She  had  wired,  an- 
nouncing herself  for  lunch,  asking  that  they  should 
be  alone.  Then,  later  on  in  the  day,  Gabriel  was 
to  see  her  father.  In  a  fortnight  they  could  be 
married.  Neither  of  them  contemplated  delay.  The 
marriage  was  to  be  of  the  quietest  possible  descrip- 
tion. She  no  longer  insisted  upon  the  yacht.  Ga- 
briel should  arrange  their  honeymoon.  They  were 
not  to  go  abroad  at  all,  there  were  places  in  Eng- 
land, historic,  quite  unknown  to  her  where  he  meant 
to  take  her.  The  main  point  was  that  they  would 
be  together  .  .  .  alone. 

The  first  part  of  the  programme  was  carried 
out.  The  house  more  than  fulfilled  expectations. 
They  found  in  it  a  thousand  new  and  unexpected 
beauties ;  leaded  windows  and  eaves  with  gargoyles, 
a  flagged  path  to  the  kitchen  with  grass  growing 
between  the  flags,  a  green  patine  on  the  Pan,  which 
Margaret  declared  was  the  central  figure  in  her 
group  of  musicians.  Enlarged  and  piping  solitary, 
but  the  same  figure;  an  almost  miraculous  coinci- 
dence. A  momentary  fright  she  had  lest  it  was  all 
too  good  to  be  true,  lest  some  one  had  forestalled 
them,  would  forestall  them  even  as  they  stood  here 
talking,  mentally  placing  print  and  pottery,  car- 
peting the  irregular  steps  and  slanting  floors.  That 


TWILIGHT  283 

was  Gabriel's  moment  of  triumph.  He  had  been  so 
sure,  he  felt  he  knew  her  taste  sufficiently  that  he 
need  not  hesitate.  The  day  he  had  seen  the  house 
he  had  secured  it.  Nothing  but  formalities  re- 
mained to  be  concluded.  She  praised  him  for  his 
promptitude  and  he  wore  her  praise  proudly,  as  if 
it  had  been  the  Victoria  Cross.  A  spasm  of  doubt 
may  have  crossed  her  mind  as  to  whether  her  father 
and  stepmother  would  view  it  with  the  same  eyes, 
or  would  point  out  the  lack  of  later-day  luxuries  or 
necessities;  light,  baths,  sanitation.  Gabriel  said 
everything  could  be  added,  they  had  but  to  be  care- 
ful not  to  interfere  with  the  main  features  of  the 
little  place,  not  to  disturb  its  amenities.  Margaret 
was  insistent  that  nothing  at  all  should  be  done. 

"  We  don't  want  glaring  electric  light.  We  shall 
use  wax  candles  ..."  He  put  her  into  a  cab  be- 
fore the  important  matter  was  decided.  Privately 
he  thought  one  bath  at  least  was  desirable,  but  he 
found  himself  unable  to  argue  with  her.  Not  just 
now,  not  at  this  minute  when  they  came  out  of  the 
home  they  would  make  together.  Such  a  home  as 
it  would  mean ! 

Mrs.  Rysam  was  less  reticent  and  Margaret  per- 
suadable, but  that  came  later.  Her  father  and 
stepmother  were  alone  to  lunch  as  she  had  asked 
them.  And  she  broke  her  news  without  delay.  She 
was  going  to  marry  Gabriel  Stanton.  There  fol- 
lowed exclamation  and  surprise,  but  in  the  end  a 


284  TWILIGHT 

real  satisfaction.  The  house  of  Stanton  was 
a  great  one.  More  than  a  hundred  years  had  gone 
to  its  upbuilding.  Sir  George  was  the  doyen  of  the 
profession  of  publisher.  He  was  the  fifth  of  his  line. 
Gabriel,  although  a  cousin,  was  his  partner  and 
would  be  his  successor.  And  he  himself  was  a  man 
of  mark.  He  had  edited,  or  was  editing  the  Union 
Classics,  and  had  contributed  valuable  matter  to  the 
Compendium  on  which  the  whole  strength  of  the 
house  had  been  employed  for  the  last  fifteen  years, 
and  which  had  already  Royal  recognition  in  the 
shape  of  the  baronetcy  conferred  on  the  head  of 
the  firm. 

"Of  course  it  should  have  been  given  to  Ga- 
briel," Margaret  said  when  she  had  explained  or 
reminded  them  of  his  position.  Naturally  she 
thought  this.  They  consoled  her  by  predicting  a 
similar  honour  for  him  in  the  future.  Margaret 
said  she  did  not  care  one  way  or  the  other.  She 
did  not  unbare  her  heart,  but  she  gave  them  more 
than  a  glimpse  of  it.  That  this  time  she  was  marry- 
ing wisely  and  that  happiness  awaited  her  was  suffi- 
cient for  them.  Edgar  B.  looked  forward  to  seeing 
Gabriel  and  telling  him  so.  He  promised  himself 
that  he  would  find  a  way  of  forwarding  that  happi- 
ness he  foresaw  for  her.  Giving  was  his  self-expres- 
sion. Already  before  lunch  was  over  he  was  think- 
ing of  settlements.  Mrs.  Rysam,  a  little  disappointed 
about  the  wedding,  which  Margaret  insisted  was  to 


TWILIGHT  285 

be  of  the  quietest  description,  was  compensated  by 
talk  about  the  house.  Margaret  might  arrange,  but 
her  stepmother  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would 
superintend  the  improvements.  Then  there  were 
clothes.  However  quiet  the  wedding  might  be  a 
trousseau  was  essential.  From  the  time  the  divorce 
had  been  decided  upon  until  now  Margaret  had 
had  no  heart  for  clothes.  Her  wardrobe  was  at  the 
lowest  possible  ebb.  Father  and  stepmother  agreed 
she  was  to  grudge  herself  nothing.  And  there  was 
no  time  to  lose,  this  very  afternoon  they  must  start 
purchasing,  also  installing  workmen  in  The  Close, 
for  so  the  little  house  was  named.  A  tremendous 
programme.  Margaret  of  course  must  not  go  back  to 
Pineland,  but  must  stay  at  Queen  Anne's  Gate  for 
the  fortnight  that  was  to  elapse  before  the  wedding. 
Margaret  demurred  at  this,  but  thought  it  best  to 
avoid  argument.  It  was  not  that  she  had  grown 
fond  of  Pineland,  or  that  Carbies  suited  her  any 
better  than  it  did.  But  the  atmosphere  of  Queen 
Anne's  Gate  was  not  a  romantic  one,  and  her  mood 
was  attuned  to  romance.  Father  and  stepmother 
were  material.  Mr.  Rysam  gave  her  a  cheque  for 
five  hundred  pounds  and  told  her  to  fit  herself  out 
properly.  Mrs.  Rysam  promised  house  linen.  Mar- 
garet could  not  but  be  grateful  although  the  one 
spoke  too  much  and  shrilly,  and  the  other  too  little 
and  to  the  point. 

"What    is    his    income?"    Edgar    B.    asked. 


286  TWILIGHT 

"  That's  what  I've  got  to  learn  and  see  what's  to 
be  added  to  it  to  make  you  really  comfortable." 

"  We  shall  want  so  little,  Gabriel  doesn't  care  a 
bit  about  money,"  Margaret  put  in  hastily. 

"  I  daresay  not." 

"  And  neither  do  I,"  she  was  quick  to  add. 
Edgar  B.  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  suggested  she 
might  not  care  for  money  but  she  liked  what  money 
could  buy.  He  was  less  original  than  most  Ameri- 
cans in  his  expressions,  but  unvaryingly  true  to  type 
in  his  outlook. 

What  an  afternoon  they  had,  Margaret  and  her 
stepmother !  The  big  car  took  them  to  Westminster 
and  the  West  End  and  back  again.  They  were  mak- 
ing appointments,  purchasing  wildly,  discussing  end- 
lessly. Or  so  it  seemed  to  Margaret,  who,  exhila- 
rated at  first,  became  conscious  towards  the  end  of 
the  day  of  nothing  but  an  overmastering  fatigue. 
She  had  ordered  several  dozens  of  underwear,  tea- 
gowns,  dressing-gowns,  whitewash,  a  china  bath, 
and  electric  lights !  They  appeared  and  disappeared 
incongruously  in  her  bewildered  brain.  She  had 
protected  her  panels,  yet  yielded  to  the  necessity  for 
drains.  Her  head  was  in  a  whirl  and  Gabriel  him- 
self temporarily  eclipsed.  Her  stepmother  was  in- 
defatigable, the  greater  the  rush  the  greater  her 
enjoyment.  She  would  even  have  started  furnishing 
but  that  Margaret  was  firm  in  refusing  to  visit 
either  of  the  emporiums  she  suggested. 


TWILIGHT  287 

"  Gabriel  and  I  have  our  own  ideas,  we  know 
exactly  what  we  want.  The  glib  fluency  of  the 
shopmen  takes  my  breath  away." 

Mrs.  Rysam  urged  their  expert  knowledge. 
Whatever  her  private  opinion  of  the  house,  its 
size  or  position,  she  fell  in  easily  with  Margaret's 
enthusiasm. 

"  You  must  not  risk  making  any  mistake. 
Messrs.  Rye  &  Gilgat  or  Maturin's,  that  place  in 
Albemarle  Street,  they  all  have  experts  who  have 
the  periods  at  their  fingers'  ends.  You've  only  got 
to  tell  them  the  year,  and  they'll  set  to  work  and  get 
you  chintzes  and  brocades  and  everything  suitable 
from  a  coal  scuttle  to  a  cabinet.  .  .  ." 

Margaret,  however,  although  over-tired,  was  not 
to  be  persuaded  to  put  herself  and  her  little  house 
unreservedly  into  any  one's  hands.  She  was  not 
capable  of  effort,  only  of  resistance.  Tea  at  Rum- 
pelmayer's  was  an  interregnum  and  not  a  rest. 
More  clothes  became  a  nightmare,  she  begged  to  be 
taken  home,  was  alarmed  when  Mrs.  Rysam  offered 
to  go  on  alone,  and  begged  her  to  desist.  When  the 
car  took  them  back  to  Queen  Anne's  Gate,  Gabriel 
had  already  left  after  a  most  satisfactory  interview 
with  her  father.  Edgar  B.,  seeing  his  daughter's 
exhaustion  and  pallor,  had  the  grace  not  to  insist 
on  explaining  the  word  "  satisfactory."  He  in- 
sisted instead  that  she  should  rest,  sleep  till  dinner- 
time. The  inexhaustible  stepmother  heard  that 


288  TWILIGHT 

Gabriel  had  been  pleased  with  everything  Mar- 
garet's father  had  suggested.  He  would  settle 
house  and  furniture,  make  provision  for  the  future. 
Whatever  was  done  for  Margaret  or  her  children 
was  to  be  done  for  her  alone,  he  wanted  nothing 
but  the  dear  privilege  of  caring  for  her.  Edgar 
appreciated  his  attitude  and  it  did  not  make  him 
feel  less  liberal. 

"  And  the  house  ?  How  about  this  house  they've 
seen  in  Westminster?  Is  it  good  enough?  big 
enough?  He  said  it  was  a  little  house,  but  why  so 
small?" 

"  They  are  just  dead  set  on  it.  Small  or  large 
you  won't  get  them  to  look  at  another.  It's  just 
something  out  of  the  way  and  quaint,  such  as  Mar- 
garet would  go  crazy  on.  No  bathroom,  no  drains, 
but  a  paved  courtyard  and  a  lead  figure  ..." 

"  Well,  well !  each  man  to  his  taste,  and  woman 
too.  She  knows  what  she  wants,  that's  one  thing. 
She  made  a  mistake  last  time  and  it  has  cost  her 
eight  years'  suffering.  She's  made  none  this  time 
and  everything  has  come  right.  He's  a  fine  fellow, 
this  Gabriel  Stanton,  a  white  man  all  through.  One 
might  have  wished  him  a  few  years  younger,  he  said 
that  himself.  He's  going  on  for  forty." 

"  What's  forty !  Margaret  is  twenty-eight,  her- 
self." 

"  Well !  bless  her,  there's  a  lifetime  of  happiness 
before  her  and  I'll  gild  it." 


TWILIGHT  289 

"  The  drawing-room  will  take  a  grand  piano." 

"  That's  good." 

"  And  I've  settled  to  give  her  the  house  linen 
myself." 

"  No  place  for  a  car,  I  suppose.  In  an  out-of-the- 
way  place  like  that  she'll  need  a  car." 

So  they  planned  for  her;  having  suffered  in  her 
suffering  and  eclipse,  and  eager  now  to  make  up  to 
her  for  them,  as  indeed  they  had  always  been.  Only 
in  the  bitter  past  it  proved  difficult  because  her 
sensitiveness  had  baffled  them.  It  was  that  which 
had  kept  her  bound  so  long.  All  that  could  be  done 
had  been  done,  to  arrange  a  divorce  via  lawyers 
through  Edgar  B/s  cheque-book.  But  James  Capel, 
when  it  came  to  the  end,  proved  that  he  cared  less 
for  money  than  for  limelight,  and  had  defended  the 
suit  recklessly  with  the  help  of  an  unscrupulous 
attorney.  The  nightmare  of  the  case  was  soon 
over,  but  the  shadow  of  it  had  darkened  many  of 
their  days.  This  wedding  was  really  the  end  and 
would  put  the  coping  stone  on  their  content. 

Neither  Edgar  B.  nor  his  wife  heard  anything 
of  the  attempt  at  blackmail.  Gabriel,  of  course,  did 
not  tell  them.  Margaret,  strange  as  it  may  sound, 
had  forgotten  all  about  it!  Something  had  given 
an  impetus  to  her  feeling  for  Gabriel :  and  now  it 
was  at  its  flood  tide.  She  had  written  once,  "  Men 
do  not  love  good  women,  they  have  a  high  opinion 
of  them."  She  would  not  have  written  it  now,  she 


2QO  TWILIGHT 

herself  had  found  goodness  lovable.  Gabriel  Stan- 
ton  was  a  better  man  than  she  had  ever  met.  He 
was  totally  unlike  an  American,  and  had  scruples 
even  about  making  money. 

Her  father  and  he,  discoursing  one  evening  upon 
commercial  morality,  she  found  that  they  spoke 
different  languages,  and  could  arrive  at  no  under- 
standing. But  she  discovered  in  herself  a  linguistic 
gift  and  so  saw  through  her  father's  subtlety  into 
Gabriel's  simplicity.  She  knew  then  that  the  man 
who  enthralled  her  was  the  type  of  which  she  had 
read  with  interest,  and  written  with  enthusiasm, 
but  never  before  encountered.  An  English  gentle- 
man !  With  this  in  her  consciousness  she  could  per- 
mit herself  to  revel  in  all  his  other  attractions,  his 
lean  vigour  and  easy  movements,  shapely  hands  and 
deep-set  eyes  under  the  thin  straight  brows.  His 
mouth  was  an  inflexible  line  when  his  face  was  in 
repose.  When  he  smiled  at  her  the  asceticism 
vanished.  He  smiled  at  her  very  often  in  these 
strange  full  days.  The  days  hurried  past,  there  was 
little  time  for  private  conversation,  an  orgy  of  buy- 
ing held  them. 

Margaret,  yielding  to  pressure  and  inclination, 
stayed  on  and  on  until  the  week  passed  and  the  next 
one  was  broken  in  upon.  Now  it  was  Tuesday  and 
there  was  only  one  more  week.  One  more  week! 
Sometimes  it  seemed  incredible.  Always  it  seemed 
as  if  the  sun  was  shining  and  the  light  growing  more 


TWILIGHT  291 

intense,  blinding.  She  moved  toward  it  unsteadily. 
This  semi-American  atmosphere  into  which  she  and 
her  lover  had  become  absorbed  was  an  atmosphere 
of  hustle,  kaleidoscopic,  shifting. 

"If  they  had  only  given  me  time  to  think  I 
should  have  known  that  the  clothes  and  the  house- 
linen,  the  carpets  and  curtains,  the  piano  and  the 
choice  of  a  car,  could  all  wait  until  we  came  back, 
could  wait  even  after  that.  But  they  tear  along  and 
carry  us  after  them  in  a  whirlwind  of  tempestuous 
good-nature,"  Margaret  said  ruefully  in  the  five 
minutes  they  secured  together  before  dinner  that 
Tuesday  evening. 

"  You  are  doing  too  much,  exhausting  your 
energy,  using  up  your  strength.  And  we  have  not 
found  time  for  even  one  prowl  after  old  furniture 
in  our  own  way,  that  we  spoke  of  at  Carbies." 

"  They  are  spoiling  the  house  with  the  talk 
of  preserving  it.  To-day  Father  told  me  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  the  floors  should  be 
levelled  ..." 

"  I  know.  And  he  wants  the  kitchen  concreted. 
Some  wretched  person  with  the  lips  of  a  day- 
labourer  and  the  soul  of  an  iconoclast  told  him  the 
place  was  swarming  with  rats  .  .  ." 

"  We  wanted  to  hear  mysterious  noises  behind 
the  wainscot." 

They  were  half -laughing,  but  there  was  an  under- 
current of  seriousness  in  their  complaining.  They 


292  TWILIGHT 

and  their  house  were  caught  in  the  torpedo-netting 
of  the  parental  Rysams'  strong  common  sense. 
Confronted  and  caught  they  had  to  admit  there  was 
little  glamour  in  rats  and  none  at  all  in  black  beetles. 
Still  .  .  .  concrete!  To  yield  to  it  was  weakness, 
to  deny  it,  folly. 

"  I  have  lost  sight  of  logic  and  forgotten  how  to 
argue.  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  run  away 
again.  Gabriel,  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind. 
Tomorrow,  I  am  going  back  to  Carbies.  There 
are  things  to  settle  up  there,  arrange.  Stevens  is 
coming  back  with  me,  and  we  are  going  before 
anybody  is  up.  Every  day  I  have  said  that  I  must 
go,  and  each  time  Father  and  Mother  have  an- 
swered breathlessly  that  it  was  impossible,  inter- 
posed the  most  cogent  arguments.  Now  I  am  going 
without  telling  them." 

"  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done.  And 
stay  until  next  week.  Let  me  come  down  Satur- 
day. We  need  quiet.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  in  a 
machine  room  the  last  few  days." 

" '  All  day  the  wheels  keep  turning,' '  she 
quoted. 

"  Yes,  that  expresses  it  perfectly.  Run  away 
and  let  me  run  after  you.  Saturday  afternoon  and 
Sunday  we  will  be  on  the  beach,  listen  to  the  sea, 
and  forget  the  use  of  speech." 

"  The  use  and  abuse  of  speech.  I'll  wear  my 
oldest  clothes.  No!  I  won't.  You  shall  have  a 


TWILIGHT  293 

treat.  I  really  have  some  most  exquisite  things. 
I'll  take  them  all  down ;  change  every  hour  or  two, 
give  you  a  private  view  ..." 

"  You  are  lovely  in  everything  you  wear.  You 
need  never  trouble  to  change.  Think  what  a 
fatigue  it  will  be.  I  want  you  to  rest." 

"  How  serious  you  are !  I  was  not  in  earnest, 
not  quite  in  earnest.  But  I  can't  wait  to  show  you 
a  teagown,  all  lacy  and  transparent,  made  of  chiffon 
and  mist  .  .  ." 

"Grey  mist?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  love  you  in  grey." 

She  laughed : 

"  You  have  had  no  opportunity  of  loving  me  in 
any  other  colour.  Not  indoors  at  least.  But  you 
will.  I  could  not  have  a  one-coloured  trousseau. 
I've  a  wonderful  beige  walking-dress;  one  in  blue 
serge,  lined  with  chiffon  .  .  ." 

"  Tell  me  of  your  wedding-dress.  Only  a  week 
today  .  .  ."  Before  she  had  told  him  her  step- 
mother bustled  in,  her  arms  full  of  parcels  that 
Margaret  must  unpack,  investigate,  try  on  imme- 
diately after  dinner,  or  before.  Dinner  could  wait. 
Margaret  had  already  been  tried  on  and  tried  on 
until  her  head  swam.  She  yielded  again  and  Ga- 
briel and  her  father  waited  for  dinner. 

Nothing  was  as  they  had  planned  it.  So,  al- 
though they  were  too  happy  to  complain,  and  too 


294  TWILIGHT 

grateful  to  resent  what  was  being  done  for  them, 
the  scheme  that  Margaret  should  return  to  Carbies 
without  again  announcing  her  intention  was  hur- 
riedly confirmed  between  them  and  carried  out. 

This  time  Margaret  did  not  complain  that  the 
place  was  remote,  the  garden  desolate,  the  furni- 
ture ill-sorted  and  ill-suited.  She  was  glad  to  find 
herself  anchored  as  it  were  in  a  quiet  back-water, 
out  of  the  hurly-burly,  able  to  hear  herself  breathe. 
Wednesday  she  spent  in  resting,  dreaming.  She 
went  to  bed  early. 

Thursday  found  her  at  her  writing-desk,  sorting, 
re-sorting,  reading  those  early  letters  of  hers,  and 
of  his;  recapturing  a  mood.  She  recognised  that 
in  those  early  days  she  had  not  been  quite  genuine, 
that  her  letters  did  not  ring  as  true  as  his.  She  saw 
there  was  a  literary  quality  in  them  that  detracted 
from  their  value.  Yet,  taking  herself  seriously, 
as  always,  and  remembering  the  Brownings,  she 
put  them  all  in  orderly  sequence,  made  attempts 
at  a  title,  in  the  event  of  their  ever  being  published, 
wrote  up  her  disingenuous  diary.  All  that  day,  all 
Thursday  and  part  of  Friday,  she  rediscovered  her 
fine  style,  her  gift  "of  phrase.  The  thing  that  held 
her  was  her  own  wonderful  and  beautiful  love 
story.  And  it  was  of  that  she  wrote.  She  knew 
she  would  make  her  mark  upon  the  literature  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  had  no  doubt  of  it  at  all. 


TWILIGHT  295 

She  had  done  much  already.  She  rated  highly  her 
three  or  four  novels,  her  two  plays.  Unhappiness 
had  dulled  her  gift,  but  today  she  felt  how  won- 
drously  it  would  be  revived.  There  are  epigrams 
among  her  MS.  notes. 

"  All  his  life  he  had  kept  his  emotions  soldered 
up  in  tin  boxes,  now  he  was  surprised  that  they 
were  like  little  fish,  compressed  and  without  life." 
This  was  tried  in  half  a  dozen  ways  but  never 
seemed  to  please  her. 

"  Happiness,  true  happiness,  holds  the  senses 
in  solution,  it  requires  matrimony  to  diffuse 
them." 

It  seemed  extraordinary  now  that  she  should 
have  found  content  in  these  futilities.  But  it  was 
nevertheless  true.  She  came  down  to  Carbies  on 
Wednesday  and  it  was  Friday  before  she  even  re- 
membered Peter  Kennedy's  existence,  and  that  it 
would  be  only  polite  to  let  him  know  she  was  here, 
greatly  improved  in  health,  on  the  eve  of  marriage. 
Friday  morning  she  telephoned  for  him.  When  he 
came  she  was  sitting  at  her  writing-table,  with  that 
inner  radiance  about  her  of  which  he  spoke  so 
often,  her  soft  lips  in  smiling  curves,  her  eyes 
agleam. 

Peter  had  known  she  was  there,  known  it  since 
the  hour  she  came.  He  had  bad  news  for  her  and 
would  not  hurry  to  tell  her,  not  now,  when  she  had 
sent  for  him.  In  the  presence  of  that  radiance  he 


296  TWILIGHT 

found  it  difficult  to  speak.  He  could  not  bear  to 
think  it  would  be  blurred  or  obscured.  If  the  cruel- 
lest of  necessities  had  not  impelled  him  he  would 
have  kept  silence  for  always. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"  ARE  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  was  an  answer  she  under- 
stood. 

"Surprised?" 

"  I  know  you  have  been  down  here  since  Wednes- 
day." 

"  You  knew  it !  Then  why  didn't  you  come  and 
see  me?  You  are  very  inattentive." 

"  I  knew  you  would  send  if  you  wanted  me." 
Now  he  looked  at  her  with  surprised,  almost  grudg- 
ing admiration.  "  Your  change  has  agreed  with 
you ;  you  look  thundering  well." 

'  Thundering !  What  an  absurdly  incongruous 
word.  Never  mind,  I  always  knew  you  were  no 
stylist.  Yes,  I  am  quite  well,  although  from  morn- 
ing till  night  I  did  almost  everything  you  told  me 
not  to  do.  I  was  in  a  whirl  of  excitement,  tiring 
and  overtiring  myself  all  the  time." 

"  I  suppose  I  was  wrong  then.  It  seems  you 
need  excitement."  He  spoke  with  less  interest  than 
he  usually  gave  to  her,  almost  perfunctorily,  but 
she  noticed  no  difference  and  went  on : 

"The  fact  is  I  have  found  the  elixir  of  life. 
297 


298  TWILIGHT 

There  is  such  a  thing,  the  old  necromancers  knew 
more  than  we.  The  elixir  is  happiness." 

"  You  have  been  so  happy?  " 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  sought  not 
him  but  the  horizon.  The  window  was  open  and 
the  air  was  scented  with  the  coming  summer,  with 
the  fecund  beauty  of  growing  things. 

"  So  happy,"  she  repeated.  "  Incredibly  happy. 
And  only  on  the  threshold  .  .  ."  Then  she  looked 
away  from  the  sky  and  toward  him,  smiled. 

"  Peter,  Peter  Kennedy,  you  are  not  to  be  sour 
nor  gloomy,  you  are  to  be  happy  too,  to  rejoice 
with  me.  You  say  you  love  me."  He  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"  You  will  never  know  how  much." 

"  Then  be  glad  with  me.  My  health  has  revived, 
my  youth  has  come  back,  my  wasted  devastated 
youth.  I  am  a  girl  again  with  this  added  glory  of 
womanhood.  Am  I  hurting  you?  I  don't  want 
to  hurt  you,  I  only  want  you  to  understand,  I  can 
speak  freely,  for  you  always  knew  I  was  not  for 
you.  Would  you  like  me  to  be  uncertain,  delicate, 
despondent?  Surely  not." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  happy,"  he  said  unevenly. 

"  Add  to  it  a  little."  She  held  out  her  hand  to 
him.  "  Stay  and  have  tea  with  me.  Afterwards 
we  will  go  up  to  the  music  room,  I  will  give  you  a 
last  lesson.  Have  you  been  practising?  Peter,  are 
you  glad  or  sorry  that  we  ever  met  ?  I  don't  think  I 


TWILIGHT  299 

have  harmed  you.  You  admit  I  roused  your  am- 
bition, and  surely  your  music  has  improved,  not 
only  in  execution,  but  your  musical  taste.  Do  you 
remember  the  first  time  you  played  and  sang  to  me  ? 
'  Put  Me  Among  the  Girls ! '  was  the  name  of  the 
masterpiece  you  rolled  out.  I  put  my  fingers  to  my 
ears,  but  afterwards  you  played  without  singing, 
and  you  listened  to  me  without  fidgetting.  Peter, 
you  won't  play  '  Put  Me  Among  the  Girls '  this 
afternoon,  will  you?  What  will  you  play  to  me 
when  tea  is  over  and  we  go  upstairs?  " 

Peter  Kennedy,  with  that  strange  uneasiness  or 
lambent  agony  in  his  eyes,  eyes  that  all  the  time 
avoided  hers,  answered: 

"  I  shall  play  you  Beethoven's  '  Adieu.' ' 

"  Poor  Peter !  "  she  said  softly. 

She  thought  he  was  unhappy  because  he  loved 
and  was  losing  her,  because  she  was  going  to  be 
married  next  week  and  could  not  disguise  that  the 
crown  of  life  was  coming  to  her.  She  was  very 
sweet  to  him  all  that  afternoon,  and  sorry  for  him, 
fed  him  with  little  cress  sandwiches  and  pretty 
speeches,  spoke  to  him  of  his  talents  and  pressed 
him  to  practise  assiduously,  make  himself  master 
of  the  classical  musicians.  She  really  thought  she 
was  elevating  him  and  was  conscious  of  how  well 
she  talked. 

'  Then  as  to  your  profession,   I  am  sure  you 
have  a  gift.     No  one  who  has  ever  attended  me 


300  TWILIGHT 

has  done  me  more  good.  I  want  you  to  take  your 
profession  very,  very  seriously.  If  it  is  true  that 
you  have  the  gift  of  healing  and  the  gift  of  music, 
and  I  think  it  is,  you  will  not  be  unhappy,  nor 
lonely  long." 

And  the  poor  fellow,  who  was  really  thinking 
all  that  time  of  the  bad  news  and  how  to  break  it, 
listened  to  her,  hearing  only  half  she  said.  He  did 
not  know  how  to  break  his  news,  that  was  the  truth, 
yet  dared  not  leave  it  unbroken. 

"  When  is  Mr.  Stanton  coming  down  ?  "  he  asked 
her. 

"  Why  do  you  dwell  upon  it  ?  You  have  this 
afternoon,  make  the  best  of  the  time.  I  should  like 
to  think  you  were  glad,  not  sorry  we  met." 

He  broke  into  crude  and  confused  speech  then 
and  told  her  all  she  had  meant  to  him,  what  new 
views  of  life  she  had  given  to  him. 

"  You  have  been  a  perfect  revelation  to  me.  I 
had  not  dreamed  a  woman  could  be  so  sweet  .  .  ." 
And  then,  stammeringly,  he  thanked  her  for  every- 
thing. He  was  a  little  overcome  because  he  was 
not  sure  this  happiness  of  hers  was  going  to  last, 
that  it  would  not  be  almost  immediately  eclipsed. 
He  really  did  love  her  and  in  the  best  way,  would 
have  secured  her  happiness  at  the  expense  of  his 
own,  would  have  sacrificed  everything  he  held  dear 
to  save  her  from  what  he  feared  was  inevitable. 
He  was  miserably  undecided,  and  could  not  throw 


TWILIGHT  301 

off  his  depression.  Not,  as  Margaret  thought,  be- 
cause of  his  jealousy  of  Gabriel  and  ungratified 
love,  but  because  he  feared  the  wedding  might  never 
take  place.  He  eat  a  great  many  hot  cakes  and 
sandwiches,  drank  two  cups  of  tea.  Afterwards 
in  the  music  room  he  played  Beethoven,  and  listened 
when  she  replied  with  Chopin.  Or  if  he  did  not 
listen  the  pretence  he  made  was  good  enough  to 
satisfy  her.  She  was  secretly  flattered,  elated,  at 
the  effect  she  had  produced,  a  little  sorry  for  him, 
a  little  sentimental.  "  Why  should  a  heart  have 
been  there  in  the  way  of  a  fair  woman's  foot  ?  "  she 
quoted  to  herself. 

She  sent  him  away  before  dinner.  She  had 
promised  Gabriel  she  would  keep  early  hours,  rest, 
and  rest,  and  rest  until  he  came  down  on  Saturday, 
and  she  meant  to  keep  her  promise.  She  gave  Dr. 
Kennedy  both  her  hands  in  farewell. 

"  I  wish  you  did  not  look  so  woebegone.  Say 
you  are  glad  I  am  happy." 

"  Oh,  my  God ! "  he  lost  himself  then,  kissing 
the  hands  she  gave  him,  speaking  wildly.  "If  the 
fellow  were  not  such  a  prig,  if  only  your  happiness 
would  last  .  .  ." 

She  drew  her  hands  away,  angry  or  offended. 

"  Last !  of  course  it  will  last.  Hush !  don't  say 
anything  unworthy  of  you.  Don't  make  me  dis- 
appointed. I  don't  want  to  think  I  have  made  a 
mistake." 


302  TWILIGHT 

With  something  very  like  a  groan  he  made  a 
precipitate  retreat.  He  could  not  tell  her  what  he 
had  come  here  to  say,  to  consult  her  about,  he  would 
have  to  write,  or  wait  until  Stanton  was  there.  He 
wanted  her  to  have  one  more  good  night.  He  loved 
her  radiance.  She  wronged  him  if  she  thought  he 
was  jealous  of  her  happiness,  or  of  Gabriel  Stanton, 
although  he  wished  so  desperately  and  so  ignorantly 
that  her  lover  had  been  other  than  he  was. 

Margaret  had  her  uninterrupted  night,  her  last 
happy  night.  Peter  Kennedy  turned  and  tossed, 
and  tossed  and  turned  on  his  narrow  bed,  the  sheets 
grew  hot  and  crumpled  and  the  pillow  iron-hard, 
making  his  head  ache.  Towards  morning  he  left 
his  bed,  abandoning  his  pursuit  of  the  sleep  that 
had  played  him  false,  and  went  for  a  long  tramp. 
At  six  o'clock,  the  sun  barely  risen  and  the  sea 
cold  in  a  retreating  tide,  he  tried  a  swim.  At  eight 
o'clock  he  was  nevertheless  no  better,  and  no  worse 
than  he  had  been  the  day  before,  and  the  day  before 
that.  He  breakfasted  on  husks ;  the  bacon  and  eggs 
tasted  little  better.  Then  he  read  Mrs.  Roope's 
letter  for  about  the  twentieth  time  and  wished  he 
had  the  doctoring  of  her ! 

Dear  Dr.  Kennedy: — 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  since  I  last  saw  you 
additional  facts  have  come  to  my  knowledge  which 
in  fairness  to  the  purity  which  is  part  of  the  higher 
life  I  cannot  ignore.  That  Mr.  Gabriel  Stanton 


TWILIGHT  303 

had  been  visiting  my  cousin's  wife  during  the  six 
months  in  which  she  should  have  been  penitently 
contemplating  the  errors  and  misdemeanours  of 
her  past,  her  failure  in  true  wifeliness,  I  knew. 
That  you  had  been  passing  many  hours  daily  with 
her,  and  at  unseemly  hours,  have  also  slept  in  her 
house,  has  only  now  come  to  my  knowledge.  I 
am  nauseated  by  this  looseness.  Marriage  should 
improve  the  human  species,  becoming  a  barrier 
against  vice.  This  has  not  been  so  with  the  wife 
of  my  husband's  cousin.  As  Mrs.  Eddy  so  truly 
says  "  the  joy  of  intercourse  becomes  the  jest  of 
sin."  I  return  you  the  cheque  you  gave  me  and 
which  becomes  due  next  Wednesday.  If  neither 
you  nor  Mrs.  Capel  has  any  argument  to  advance 
that  would  cause  me  to  alter  my  opinion  I  am  con- 
strained to  lay  the  facts  in  my  possession  before 
the  King's  Proctor.  Two  co-respondents  make  the 
case  more  complicated,  but  my  duty  more  simple. 
Yours  without  any  spiritual  arrogance  but  con- 
scious of  rectitude, 

SARAH  ROOPE. 


"  Damn  her !  "  He  had  said  it  often,  but  it  never 
forwarded  matters.  Time  pressed,  and  he  had  done 
nothing,  or  almost  nothing.  He  had  received  the 
letter  Wednesday.  On  Friday  before  going  up  to 
Carbies  he  had  wired,  "  Am  consulting  Mrs.  C. 
wait  result." 

The  early  morning  post  came  late  to  Pineland. 
Dr.  Kennedy  had  to  wait  until  nine  o'clock  for  his 
letters.  As  he  anticipated  on  Saturday  morning 


304  TWILIGHT 

there  was  another  letter  from  the  follower  of  Mrs. 
Eddy: 

Dear  Dr.  Kennedy: — 

It  is  my  duty  to  let  you  know  that  I  have  an 
appointment  with  James  Capel's  lawyer  for  Mon- 
day the  29th  inst. 

In  desperation  he  wired  back,  "  Name  terms, 
Kennedy,"  and  paid  reply.  There  were  a  few  pa- 
tients he  was  bound  to  see.  The  time  had  to  be 
got  through  somehow.  But  at  twelve  o'clock  he 
started  for  Carbies.  Margaret  had  not  expected 
to  see  him  again.  She  had  said  good-bye  to  him, 
to  the  whole  incident.  Her  "  consciousness  of  recti- 
tude," as  far  as  Peter  Kennedy  was  concerned,  was 
as  complete  as  Mrs.  Roope's.  She  had  found  him 
little  better  than  a  country  yokel,  and  now  saw  him 
with  a  future  before  him,  a  future  she  still  vaguely 
meant  to  forward — only  vaguely.  Definitely  all 
her  thoughts  were  with  Gabriel  and  the  hours  they 
would  pass  together.  She  was  meeting  him  at  the 
station  at  three  o'clock.  She  remembered  the  first 
time  she  had  met  him  at  Pineland  station,  and 
smiled  at  the  remembrance.  He  might  cut  himself 
shaving  with  impunity  now,  and  the  shape  of  his 
hat  or  his  coat  mattered  not  one  jot. 

Not  expecting  Peter  Kennedy,  but  Gabriel  Stan- 
ton,  she  was  already  arrayed  in  one  of  her  trous- 
seau dresses,  a  simple  walking-costume  of  blue 


TWILIGHT  305 

serge,  a  shirt  of  fine  cambric,  and  was  spending  a 
happy  hour  trying  on  hat  after  hat  to  decide  not 
only  which  was  most  suitable  but  which  was  the 
most  becoming.  Hearing  wheels  on  the  gravel  she 
looked  out  of  the  window.  Seeing  Peter  she  al- 
most made  up  her  mind  not  to  go  down.  She  had 
just  decided  on  a  toque  of  pansies  .  .  .  she  might 
try  the  effect  on  Peter.  She  was  a  little  disingenu- 
ous with  herself,  vanity  was  the  real  motive,  al- 
though she  sought  for  another  as  she  went  down- 
stairs. 

Peter  was  in  the  drawing-room,  staring  vacantly 
out  of  the  window.  He  never  noticed  her  new 
clothes.  She  saw  that  in  his  eyes,  and  it  quenched 
any  welcome  there  might  have  been  in  hers.  It  was 
her  expression  he  answered  with  his  impulsive: 

"  I  had  to  come !  " 

"Had  you?" 

"  You  mustn't  be  satirical,"  he  said  desperately. 
"  Or  be  what  you  like,  what  does  it  matter  ?  I'd 
rather  have  shot  myself  than  come  to  you  with  such 
news  .  .  ."  Her  sudden  pallor  shook  him.  "  You 
can  guess  of  course." 

"  No,  I  can't." 

"  That  blasted  woman !  " 

"  Go  on." 

"  She  has  written  again.  Sit  down."  She  sank 
into  the  easy-chair.  All  her  radiance  was  quenched, 


306  TWILIGHT 

she  looked  piteous,  pitiable.  He  could  not  look  at 
her. 

"  I  came  up  here  yesterday  afternoon,  meaning 
to  tell  you.  You  were  so  damned  happy  I  couldn't 
get  it  out." 

"  So  damned  happy ! "  she  repeated  after  him, 
and  the  words  were  strange  on  her  white  lips, 
her  laugh  was  stranger  still  and  made  him  feel 
cold. 

"  You  haven't  got  to  take  it  like  that ;  we'll  find 
a  way  out.  I  suppose,  after  all,  it's  only  a  question 
of  money  .  .  ." 

"  I  cannot  give  her  more  money." 

"  I've  got  some.  I  can  get  more.  You  know 
I  haven't  a  thing  in  the  world  you  are  not  welcome 
to,  you've  made  a  man  of  me." 

"  It  is  not  because  I  haven't  the  money  to  give 
her."  She  spoke  in  a  strange  voice,  it  seemed  to 
have  shrunk  somehow,  there  was  no  volume  in  it, 
it  was  small  and  colourless. 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  she  wants.  I  have 
wired  her  and  paid  a  reply.  I  daresay  her  answer  is 
there  by  now.  I'll  phone  and  ask  if  you  like." 

"What's  the  use?" 

"  Well,  we'd  better  know." 

"  He  said  that  is  what  would  happen.  That  she 
would  come  again  and  yet  again."  She  was  taking 
things  even  worse  than  he  expected.  "  He  will 
never  give  in  to  her,  never  .  .  ."  She  collapsed 


TWILIGHT  307 

fitfully,  like  an  electric  lamp  with  a  broken  wire. 
"  Everything  is  over,  everything." 

"  I  don't  see  that." 

She  went  on  in  that  small  colourless  voice : 

"  I  know.  We  don't  see  things  the  way  Gabriel 
does.  I  promised  to  tell  him,  to  consult  him  if  she 
came  again." 

He  hesitated,  even  stammered  a  little  before  he 
answered : 

"He  ...  he  had  better  not  be  told  of  this." 

She  laughed  again,  that  little  incongruous  hope- 
less laugh. 

"  I  haven't  any  choice,  I  promised  him." 

"Promised  him  what?" 

"  To  let  him  know  if  she  came  back  again,  if  I 
heard  anything  more  about  it." 

"  This  isn't  exactly  '  it.'  "  This  is  a  fresh  start 
altogether.  I  suppose  you  know  how  I  hate  what 
I  am  saying.  The  position  can't  be  faced,  it's  got 
to  be  dodged.  It's  not  only  Gabriel  Stanton  she's 
got  hold  of  .  .  ." 

He  did  not  want  to  go  on,  and  she  found  some 
strange  groundless  hope  in  his  hesitation. 

"  Not  Gabriel  Stanton  ?  "  she  asked,  and  there 
seemed  more  tone  in  her  voice,  more  interest.  She 
leaned  forward. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  see  her  letter."  He  gave 
it  to  her,  then  without  a  word  went  over  to  the 
other  window,  turned  his  face  away  from  her. 


3o8  TWILIGHT 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Margaret's  face  was 
aflame,  but  her  heart  felt  like  ice.  Peter  Kennedy 
to  be  dragged  in,  to  have  to  defend  herself  from 
such  a  charge !  And  Gabriel  yet  to  be  told !  She 
covered  her  eyes,  but  was  conscious  presently  that 
the  man  was  standing  beside  her,  speaking. 

"  Margaret ! "  His  voice  was  as  unhappy  as 
hers,  his  face  ravaged.  "  It  is  not  my  fault.  I'd 
give  my  life  it  hadn't  happened.  That  night  you 
had  the  heart  attack  I  did  stay  for  hours,  prowled 
about  .  .  .  then  slept  on  the  drawing-room  sofa. 
Margaret  ..." 

"Oh!  hush!  hush!" 

"  You  must  listen,  we  must  think  what  is  best 
to  be  done,"  he  said  desperately.  "  Let  me  go  up 
to  London  and  see  her.  I'm  sure  I  can  manage 
something.  It's  not  .  .  .  it's  not  as  if  there  were 
anything  in  it."  His  tactlessness  was  innate,  he 
meant  so  well  but  blundered  hopelessly,  even  putting 
a  hand  on  her  knee  in  the  intensity  of  his  sympathy. 
She  shook  it  off  as  if  he  had  been  the  most  ob- 
noxious of  insects.  "  Let  me  go  up  and  see  her," 
he  pleaded.  "  Authorise  me  to  act.  May  I  see  if 
there  is  an  answer  to  my  telegram?  I  sent  it  a 
little  before  nine.  May  I  telephone  ?  " 

"  Do  what  you  like." 

"You  loathe  me." 

"  I  wish  you  had  never  been  born." 

He  was  gone  ten  minutes  ...  a  quarter  of  an 


TWILIGHT  309 

hour  perhaps.  When  he  came  back  she  had  slipped 
on  to  the  couch,  was  lying  in  a  huddled-up  position. 
For  a  moment,  one  awful  moment,  he  thought  she 
was  dead,  but  when  he  lifted  her  he  saw  she  had 
only  fainted.  He  laid  her  very  gently  on  the  sofa 
and  rang  for  help,  glad  of  her  momentary  uncon- 
sciousness. He  knew  what  he  intended  to  do  now, 
and  to  what  he  must  try  to  persuade  her.  Stevens 
came  and  said,  unsympathetically  enough : 

"  She's  drored  her  stays  too  tight.  I  told  her  so 
this  morning."  But  she  worked  about  her  effectively 
and  presently  she  struggled  back,  seeming  to  have 
forgotten  for  the  moment  what  had  stricken  her. 

"  Have  I  had  another  heart  attack  ? "  she  asked 
feebly. 

"  No." 

"  I  told  you  you  were  lacing  too  tight.  I  knew 
what  would  happen  with  these  new  stays  and 
things."  She  actually  smiled  at  Stevens,  a  wan 
little  smile. 

"  I  feel  rather  seedy  still." 

Peter  took  the  cushion  from  her,  made  her  lie 
flat.  Then  she  said  in  a  puzzled  way,  her  mind 
working  slowly: 

"  Something  happened  ?  " 

There  was  little  time  to  be  lost  and  he  answered 
awkwardly,  abruptly: 

"  I  brought  you  bad  news." 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  lay  still  thinking  that  over. 


310  TWILIGHT 

She  opened  them  and  saw  his  working  face  and 
anxious  eyes. 

"  About  Mrs.  Roope,"  he  reminded  her.  They 
were  alone,  the  impeccable  Stevens  had  gone  for  a 
hot-water  bottle. 

"  What  is  it  exactly  ?  Tell  me  all  over  again. 
I  am  feeling  rather  stupid.  I  thought  we  had  set- 
tled and  finished  with  her  ?  " 

"  She  has  reopened  the  matter,  dragged  me  in." 
She  remembered  now,  and  the  flush  in  his  face  was 
reflected  in  hers.  "  But  it  is  only  a  question  of 
money.  I've  got  her  terms." 

"  We  must  not  give  her  money.  Gabriel 
says  .  .  ." 

He  would  not  let  her  speak,  interrupting  her 
hurriedly,  continuing  to  speak  without  pause. 

"  The  sum  isn't  impossible.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
I  can  find  it  myself,  or  almost  the  whole  amount. 
Then  there's  Lansdowne,  he's  really  not  half  a 
bad  fellow  when  you  know  him.  And  he's  as  rich 
as  Croesus,  he  would  gladly  lend  it  to  me." 

"  No.  Nonsense !  Don't  be  absurd."  She  was 
thinking,  he  could  see  that  she  was  thinking  whilst 
she  spoke. 

"  It's  my  affair  as  much  as  yours,"  he  pleaded. 
"  There  is  my  practice  to  consider." 

She  almost  smiled : 

"  Then  you  actually  have  a  practice  ?  " 

"  I'm   going   to   have.      Quite   a   big   one   too. 


TWILIGHT  311 

Haven't  you  told  me  so?  "  He  was  glad  to  get  the 
talk  down  for  one  moment  to  another  level.  "  It 
would  be  awfully  bad  for  me  if  anything  came  out. 
I  am  only  thinking  of  myself.  I  want  to  settle  with 
her  once  for  all." 

Her  faint  had  weakened  her,  she  was  just  re- 
covering from  it.  Physically  she  was  more  com- 
fortable, mentally  less  alert,  and  satisfied  it  should 
be  so. 

"  Perhaps  I  took  it  too  tragically  ? "  she  said 
slowly.  "  Perhaps  as  you  say,  in  a  way,  it  is  your 
affair." 

He  answered  her  eagerly. 

"  That's  right.  My  affair,  and  nothing  to  do  with 
your  promise  to  him.  Then  you'll  leave  it  in  my 
hands  .  .  ." 

"  You  go  so  fast,"  she  complained. 

"  The  time  is  so  short ;  she  can't  have  anything 
else  up  her  sleeve.  I  funked  telling  you,  I've  left  it 
so  late."  He  showed  more  delicacy  than  one  would 
have  given  him  credit  for  and  stumbled  over  the 
next  sentences.  "  He  would  hate  to  think  of  me  in 
this  connection.  You'd  hate  to  tell  him.  Just  give 
me  leave  to  settle  with  her.  I'll  dash  up  to  town." 

"  How  much  does  she  want  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred.    I  can  find  the  money." 

"  Nonsense ;  it  isn't  the  money.  I  wish  I  knew 
what  I  ought  to  do,"  she  said  indecisively.  "  If 
only  I  hadn't  promised  .  .  ." 


312  TWILIGHT 

"  This  is  nothing  to  do  with  what  you  promised 
.  .  .  this  is  a  different  thing  altogether." 

He  was  sophistical  and  insistent  and  she  was 
weak,  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded.  The  money 
of  course  must  be  her  affair,  she  could  not  allow  him 
to  be  out  of  pocket. 

They  disputed  about  this  and  he  had  more  argu- 
ments to  bring  forward.  These  she  brushed  aside 
impatiently.  If  the  money  was  to  be  paid  she  would 
pay  it,  could  afford  it  better  than  he. 

"  I'm  sure  I  am  doing  wrong,"  she  repeated 
when  she  wrote  out  the  cheque,  blotted  and  gave  it 
to  him. 

"  He'll  never  know.    No  one  will  ever  know." 

Peter  Kennedy  was  only  glad  she  had  yielded. 
He  had,  of  course,  no  thought  of  himself  in  the 
matter.  Why  should  he?  In  losing  her  he  lost 
everything  that  mattered,  that  really  mattered.  And 
he  had  never  had  a  chance,  not  an  earthly  chance. 
He  believed  her  happiness  was  only  to  be  secured 
by  this  marriage,  and  he  dreaded  the  effect  upon 
her  health  of  any  disappointment  or  prolonged 
anxiety.  "  Once  you  are  married  it  doesn't  matter 
a  hang  what  she  says  or  does,"  he  said  gloomily 
or  consolingly  when  she  had  given  him  the 
cheque. 

"  Suppose  .  .  .  suppose  .  .  .  Gabriel  were  to  get  to 
know  ?  "  she  asked  with  distended  eyes.  Some  re- 
assurance she  found  for  herself  after  Peter  Ken- 


TWILIGHT  313 

nedy  had  gone,  taking  with  him  the  cheque  that  was 
the  price  of  her  deliverance. 

Would  Gabriel  be  so  inflexible,  seeing  what  was 
at  stake?  The  last  fortnight  in  a  way  had  drawn 
them  so-  much  closer  to  each  other.  They  must  live 
together  in  that  house  within  the  Sanctuary  at  West- 
minster. Must.  Oh !  if  only  life  .would  stand  still 
until  next  Wednesday!  The  next  hour  or  two 
crushed  heavily  over  her.  She  knew  she  had  done 
wrong,  that  she  had  promised  and  broken  her 
promise.  No  sophistry  really  helped  her.  But, 
whatever  happened,  she  must  have  this  afternoon 
and  a  long  Sunday,  alone  with  him,  growing  more 
necessary  to  him.  Finally  she  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing herself  that  he  would  never  know,  or  that 
he  would  forgive  her  when  he  did  know,  at  the 
right  time,  when  the  time  came  to  tell  him. 

She  forced  herself  to  a  pretence  at  lunch.  Then 
went  slowly  upstairs  to  complete  her  interrupted 
toilette.  Looking  in  the  glass  now  she  saw  a  pale 
and  distraught  face  that  ill-fitted  the  pansy  toque. 
She  changed  into  something  darker,  more  suitable, 
with  a  cock's  feather.  All  her  desire  was  that  Ga- 
briel should  be  pleased  with  her  appearance,  to  give 
Gabriel  pleasure. 

"  I  haven't  any  rouge,  have  I,  Stevens  ?  " 

"  I  should  'ope  not." 

"  I  don't  want  Mr.  Stanton  to  find  me  looking 
ill." 


3H  TWILIGHT 

"  You  look  well  enough,  considering.  He  won't 
notice  nothing.  The  carriage  is  here."  Stevens 
gave  her  gloves  and  a  handkerchief. 

Now  she  was  bowling  along  the  quiet  country 
road,  on  the  way  to  meet  him.  The  sky  was  as  blue, 
the  air  as  sweet  as  she  had  anticipated.  On  the  sur- 
face she  was  all  throbbing  expectation.  She  was 
going  to  meet  her  lover,  nothing  had  come  between 
them,  could  come  between  them. 

But  in  her  subconsciousness  she  was  suffering 
acutely.  It  seemed  she  must  faint  again  when  the 
train  drew  in  and  she  saw  him  on  the  platform,  but 
the  feeling  passed.  Never  had  she  seen  him  look  so 
completely  happy.  There  was  no  hint  or  sugges- 
tion of  austerity  about  him,  or  asceticism.  The 
porter  swung  his  bag  to  the  coachman.  Gabriel 
took  his  place  beside  her  in  the  carriage.  A  greet- 
ing passed  between  them,  only  a  smile  of  mutual 
understanding,  content.  Nothing  had  happened 
since  they  parted,  she  told  herself  passionately,  else 
he  had  not  looked  so  happy,  so  content. 

"  We'll  drop  the  bag  at  the  hotel,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  Like  we  did  the  first  time  you  came,"  Mar- 
garet answered.  His  hand  lay  near  hers  and  he 
pressed  it,  keeping  it  in  his. 

"We  might  have  tea  there,  on  that  iron  table, 
as  we  did  that  day,"  he  said. 


TWILIGHT  315 

"  And  hear  the  sea,  watch  the  waves,"  she  mur- 
mured in  response. 

"  You  like  me  better  than  you  did  that  day." 

"  I  know  you  better."  She  found  it  difficult  to 
talk. 

"  Everything  is  better  now,"  he  said  with  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction.  It  was  twenty  minutes'  drive  from 
the  station  to  the  hotel.  He  was  telling  her  of  an 
old  oak  bureau  he  had  seen,  of  the  way  the  work- 
men were  progressing,  of  a  Spode  dinner  service 
George  was  going  to  give  them.  Once  when  they 
were  between  green  hedges  in  a  green  solitude,  he 
raised  the  hand  he  held  to  his  lips  and  said : 

"  Only  three  days  more." 

She  was  in  a  dream  from  which  she  had  no  wish 
to  wake. 

"  You  don't  usually  wear  a  veil,  do  you  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  There  is  something  different  about  you 
today  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  my  new  trousseau,"  she  answered,  not 
without  inward  agitation,  but  lightly  withal.  "  The 
latest  fashion.  Don't  you  like  it  ?  "  Now  they  had 
left  the  sheltering  hedges  and  were  within  sight  of 
the  white  painted  hostelry. 

"  The  hat  and  dress  and  everything  are  lovely. 
But  your  own  loveliness  is  obscured  by  the  veil. 
It  makes  you  look  ethereal;  I  cannot  see  you  so 
clearly  through  it.  Beloved,  you  are  quite  well, 
are  you  not  ?  "  There  was  a  note  of  sudden  anxiety 


3i6  TWILIGHT 

in  his  voice.  "  It  is  the  veil,  isn't  it?  You  are  not 
pale  ?  "  She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  it  is  the  veil."  They  pulled  up  at  the  door 
of  the  hotel.  There  was  another  fly  there,  but 
empty,  the  horse  with  a  nose-bag,  feeding,  the 
coachman  not  on  the  box. 

"  The  carriage  is  to  wait.  You  can  take  the  bag 
up  to  my  room,"  he  said  to  the  porter.  Then  turned 
to  help  Margaret. 

"  Send  out  tea  for  two  as  quickly  as  you  can. 
The  table  is  not  occupied,  is  it  ?  " 

"There  is  a  lady  walking  about,"  the  man  said. 
"  I  don't  know  as  she  'as  ordered  tea.  She's  been 
here  some  time,  seems  to  be  waiting  for  some  one." 

"  Oh !  we  don't  want  any  one  but  ourselves," 
Margaret  exclaimed,  still  with  that  breathless 
strange  agitation. 

"  I'll  see  to  that,  milady."     He  touched  his  cap. 

When  they  walked  down  the  path  to  where,  on 
the  terrace  overlooking  the  sea,  the  iron  table  and 
two  chairs  awaited  them,  Margaret  said  reminis- 
cently : 

"  I  sat  and  waited  for  you  here  whilst  you  saw 
your  room,  washed  your  hands  .  .  ." 

"  And  today  I  cannot  leave  you  even  to  wash  my 
hands." 

The  deep  tenderness  in  his  voice  penetrated, 
shook  her  heart.  He  remembered  what  they  had 
for  tea  last  time,  and  ordered  it  again  when  the 


TWILIGHT  '317 

waiter  came  to  them:  Strawberry  jam  in  a  little 
glass  dish,  clotted  cream,  brown  and  white  bread 
and  butter.  "  The  sea  is  calmer  than  it  was  on  that 
day,"  he  said  when  the  waiter  went  to  execute  the 
order. 

"  The  sky  is  not  less  blue,"  Margaret  answered, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  talking  in  symbols. 

"  How  wonderful  it  all  is ! "  That  was  his  ex- 
clamation, not  hers.  She  was  unusually  silent,  but 
was  glad  of  the  tea  when  it  came,  ministering  to  him 
and  spreading  the  jam  on  the  bread  and  butter. 

"  Let  me  do  it." 

"  No,"  she  answered.  When  she  drew  her  veil 
up  a  little  way  to  drink  her  tea  one  could  see  that 
her  lips  were  a  little  tremulous,  not  as  pink  as  usual. 
Gabriel,  however,  was  too  supremely  happy  and  con- 
tent to  notice  anything.  He  poured  out  all  his  news, 
all  that  had  happened  since  she  left,  little  things, 
chiefly  details  of  paper  and  paint  and  the  protection 
of  their  property  from  her  father  and  stepmother's 
destructive  generosity. 

"  It  will  be  all  right.  I  had  a  chat  with  Travers." 
Travers  was  the  foreman  of  the  painters.  "  He  will 
do  nothing  but  with  direct  orders  from  us. 
The  concrete  in  the  basement  won't  affect  the  gen- 
eral appearance,  we  can  put  back  the  old  boards  over 
it.  But  I  think  that  might  be  a  mistake  although 
the  boards  are  very  interesting,  about  four  times 
as  thick  as  the  modern  ones,  worm  or  rat  eaten 


3i8  TWILIGHT 

through.  They  will  make  the  pipes  for  the  bath  as 
little  obtrusive  as  possible.  The  electric  wire  cas- 
ings will  go  behind  the  ceiling  mouldings.  They 
are  not  really  mouldings,  but  carved  wood,  fallen 
to  pieces  in  many  places.  But  I  am  having  them 
replaced.  Margaret,  are  you  listening?" 

She  had  been.  But  some  one  had  come  out  of 
the  hotel.  Far  off  as  they  were  she  heard  that  tur- 
key gobble  and  impedimented  speech. 

"  You  can  tell  Dr.  Kennedy  that  I  would  not 
wait  any  longer.  Tell  him  I  have  gone  straight  up 
to  Carbies.  I  shall  see  Mrs.  Capel." 

"  The  lady  from  Carbies  is  here,  ma'am;  having 
tea  on  the  terrace,  that's  her  carriage." 

Gabriel  had  not  heard,  he  was  so  intent  on  Mar- 
garet and  his  news.  The  sea  was  breaking  on  the 
shingle,  and  to  that  sound,  so  agreeable  to  him,  he 
was  also  listening  idly,  in  the  intervals  of  his  talk. 
The  strange  voice  in  the  distance  escaped  him.  The 
familiar  impediment  was  not  familiar  to  him.  Mar- 
garet was  cold  in  the  innermost  centre  of  her  un- 
evenly beating  heart. 

"  Are  you  listening  ?  "  he  asked  her,  and  the  face 
she  turned  on  him  was  white  through  the  obscuring 
veil. 

"  I  am  listening,  Gabriel." 

"  I  will  go  down  and  speak  to  her,"  Mrs.  Roope 
was  saying  to  the  waiter.  "  No,  you  need  not  go 
in  advance," 


TWILIGHT  319 

Margaret's  heart  stood  still,  the  space  of  a  sec- 
ond, and  then  thundered  on,  irregularly.  She  had 
no  plan  ready,  her  quick  brain  was  numbed. 

"Mrs.  Capel!" 

Gabriel  looked  up  and  saw  a  tall  woman  con- 
spicuously dressed  as  nun  or  nursing  sister,  in 
blue  flowing  cloak  and  bonnet.  A  woman  with  ir- 
regular features,  large  nose  and  coarse  complexion. 
When  she  had  said  "  Mrs.  Capel "  Margaret 
cringed,  a  shiver  went  through  her,  she  seemed  to 
shrink  into  the  corner  of  the  chair.  "  You  know 
me.  I  wrote  to  Dr.  Kennedy  Wednesday  and  the 
letter  required  an  immediate  answer.  Now  I've 
come  for  it." 

"  He  went  up  to  London  to  see  you,"  she  got  out. 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  sure  you  are  telling  me  the 
truth." 

"  You  can  ask  at  the  station." 

Gabriel  looked  from  one  to  the  other  perplexedly. 
But  his  perplexity  was  of  short  duration,  the  turkey 
gobble  and  St.  Vitus  twist  it  was  impossible  to 
mistake.  He  intervened  sharply: 

:<  You  are  Mrs.  Roope,  my  sister's  so-called 
'  healer.'  When  Mrs.  Capel  assures  you  of  anything 
you  have  not  to  doubt  it."  He  spoke  haughtily. 
"  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  well  enough,  Gabriel  Stanton." 

"  This  is  the  woman  who  blackmailed  you  ?  " 
The  "  yes "  seemed  wrung  from  her  unwillingly. 


320  TWILIGHT 

His  voice  was  low  and  tender  when  he  questioned 
Margaret,  quite  a  different  voice  to  the  one  in  which 
he  spoke  again  to  the  Christian  Scientist. 

"  How  dare  you  present  yourself  again  ?  You 
ought  to  have  been  given  in  charge  the  first  time. 
Are  you  aware  that  blackmailing  is  a  criminal 
offence  ?  " 

"  I  am  aware  of  everything  I  wish.  If  you  care 
for  publicity  my  motive  can  stand  the  light  of  day." 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  gaol." 

"  It  would  not  harm  me.  There  is  no  sensation 
in  matter." 

"  You  would  be  able  to  test  your  faith." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  yours  ?  " 

Margaret  caught  hold  of  his  sleeve: 

"  Don't  bandy  words  with  her,  Gabriel.  She 
says  things  without  meaning.  Let  her  go.  I  will 
send  her  away."  She  got  up  and  spoke  quickly. 
"  Dr.  Kennedy  has  gone  up  to  town  to  see  you. 
To  .  .  .  take  you  what  you  asked.  When  he  does 
not  find  you  in  London  he  will  come  straight  back 
here.  They  will  have  told  him,  I  suppose,  where 
you  have  gone?  He  has  the  money  with  him." 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Margaret  ?  "  Gabriel 
rose  too,  stood  beside  her. 

"  Wait  a  minute.  Leave  me  alone,  I  have  to  make 
her  understand." 

Margaret  was  in  an  agony  of  anxiety  that  the 
woman  should  know  her  claims  had  been  met,  that 


TWILIGHT  321 

she  should  say  nothing  more  before  Gabriel.  She 
did  not  realise  what  she  was  admitting,  did  not  see 
the  change  in  his  face,  the  petrifaction. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  up  to  his  house,  wait  for  him 
there  ?  "  Then  she  said  to  Gabriel  quickly  and  un- 
convincingly : 

"  This  is  Dr.  Kennedy's  affair.  It  was  Dr.  Ken- 
nedy for  whom  you  were  asking,  wasn't  it?  "  Mrs. 
Roope's  cunning  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  It  is  Dr.  Kennedy  I  have  got  to  see,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"If  he  misses  you  in  London  he  will  get  back 
as  quickly  as  possible."  Margaret's  strained  anx- 
iety was  easy  to  read.  Afterwards  Gabriel  fol- 
lowed her,  as  she  moved  quickly  toward  the  hotel. 

"  What  has  she  got  to  do  with  Dr.  Kennedy  or 
he  with  her  ?  "  he  asked  then.  Margaret  spoke 
hastily : 

"  She  sent  back  the  post-dated  cheque.  It  is  all 
settled  only  they  missed  each  other.  Peter  went 
up  to  town  to  find  her  and  she  misunderstood  and 
came  after  him.  He  has  the  other  cheque  with 
him." 

She  was  purposely  incoherent,  meaning  him  to 
misunderstand,  hoping  against  hope  that  he  would 
show  no  curiosity.  Mrs.  Roope  came  after  them, 
planted  herself  heavily  in  their  path. 

"  I'll  give  him  until  the  last  train." 

"  Telephone  to  your  own  house  and  you  will  find 


322  TWILIGHT 

he  has  been  there,"  Margaret  said  desperately. 
"  Let  me  pass." 

"  You  may  go." 

"  Insolence !  "  But  Margaret  hurried  on  and  he 
could  not  let  her  go  alone. 

"  I  will  go  into  the  drawing-room.  Get  the  car- 
riage up.  We  mustn't  stay  here  ..."  She  spoke 
breathlessly. 

"  You  are  not  frightened  of  her  ?  "  He  hardly 
knew  what  to  think,  that  Margaret  was  concealing 
anything  from  him  was  unbelievable,  unbearable. 

"  Frightened  ?  No.  But  I  want  to  be  away  from 
her  presence,  vicinity.  She  makes  me  feel  ill  .  .  ." 

Margaret  thought  the  danger  was  averted,  or 
would  be  if  she  could  get  away  without  any  more 
explanation.  She  had  obscured  the  issue.  Peter 
Kennedy  would  come  back  and  pay  all  that  was 
asked.  Gabriel  would  never  know  that  it  was  the 
second  and  not  the  first  attempt  at  blackmailing 
from  which  they  were  suffering.  But  she  under- 
rated his  intelligence,  he  was  not  at  all  so  easily 
put  off.  He  got  the  carriage  round  and  put  her  in 
it,  enwrapping  her  with  the  same  care  as  always. 
He  was  very  silent,  however,  as  they  drove  home- 
ward and  his  expression  was  inscrutable.  She  ques- 
tioned his  face  but  without  result,  put  out  her  hand 
and  he  held  it. 

"  We  are  not  still  thinking  of  Mrs.  Roope, 
Gabriel?" 


TWILIGHT  323 

"  Have  you  seen  her  since  I  was  here  last  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Not  until  she  came  up  to  us  this  afternoon." 
She  was  glad  to  be  able  to  answer  that  truthfully, 
breathed  more  freely. 

"  Nor  heard  from  her  ?  " 

"  Nor  heard  from  her." 

"  How  did  you  know  Dr.  Kennedy  had  gone  up 
to  town  to  see  her?  " 

"  He  told  me  so  this  morning.  I  ...  I  advised 
him  to  go." 

"  Was  this  morning  the  first  time  you  saw 
him?" 

"  No,  I  saw  him  yesterday.  Am  I  under  cross- 
examination  ?  "  She  tried  to  smile,  speak  lightly, 
but  Gabriel  sat  up  by  her  side  without  response. 
His  face  was  set  in  harsh  lines.  She  loved  him 
greatly  but  feared  him  a  little  too,  and  put  forth 
her  powers,  talking  lightly  and  of  light  things.  He 
came  back  to  the  subject  and  persisted : 

"  Why  did  she  send  back  the  post-dated  cheque  ? 
Had  she  another  given  her?" 

"  I  ...  I  suppose  so." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  like  the  way  you  are  talking  to  me." 
She  pouted,  and  he  relapsed  into  silence. 

When  they  got  back  to  Carbies  she  said  she  must 
go  up  and  change  her  dress.  She  was  very  shaken 
by  his  attitude:  she  thought  his  self-control  hid 


324  TWILIGHT 

incredulity  or  anger,  found  herself  unable  to  face 
either. 

He  detained  her  a  moment,  pleaded  with 
her. 

"  Margaret,  if  there  is  anything  behind  this  .  .  . 
anything  you  want  to  tell  me  .  .  ."  She  escaped 
from  his  detaining  arm. 

"  I  don't  like  my  word  doubted." 

"  You  have  not  given  me  your  word.  This  is 
not  a  second  attempt,  is  it?  Why  did  she  force 
herself  upon  you?  I  shall  see  Kennedy  myself  to- 
morrow, find  out  what  is  going  on." 

"  Why  should  there  be  anything  going  on?  You 
are  conjuring  up  ghosts  .  .  ."  Then  she  weakened, 
changed.  "  Gabriel,  don't  be  so  hard,  so  unlike 
yourself.  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over 
you." 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  spoke  hoarsely: 

"  My  darling,  my  more  than  treasure.  I  can't 
doubt  you,  and  yet  I  am  riven  with  doubt.  For- 
give me,  but  how  can  you  forgive  me  if  I  am 
wrong?  Tell  me  again,  tell  me  once  and  for  al- 
ways that  nothing  has  been  going  on  of  which  I 
have  been  kept  in  ignorance,  that  you  would  not, 
could  not  have  broken  your  word  to  me.  You  look 
ill,  scared  ...  I  know  now  that  from  the  moment 
I  came  you  have  not  been  yourself,  your  beautiful 
candid  self.  Margaret,  crown  of  my  life,  sweet- 
heart; darling,  speak,  tell  me.  Is  there  anything  I 


TWILIGHT  325 

ought  to  know  ?  "  He  spoke  with  ineffable  tender- 
ness. 

He  was  bending  over  her,  holding  her,  her  heart 
beat  against  his  heart;  she  would  have  answered 
had  she  been  able.  But  when  her  words  came  they 
were  no  answer  to  his. 

"  Darling,  how  strange  you  are !  There  is  cer- 
tainly nothing  you  ought  to  know.  Let  me  go  and 
get  my  things  off.  How  strange  that  you  should 
doubt  me,  that  you  should  rather  believe  that  dread- 
ful woman.  I  have  never  seen  her  since  you  were 
down  here  last,  nor  heard  from  her.  .  .  ." 

Her  cheeks  flamed  and  were  hidden  against  his 
coat,  she  hated  her  own  disingenuousness.  It  had 
been  difficult  to  tell  him,  now  it  was  impossible. 
"  Let  me  go." 

He  released  her  and  she  went  over  to  the  looking- 
glass,  adjusted  her  veil.  She  had  burnt  her  boats, 
now  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  denial  and  more 
denial.  Thoughts  went  in  and  out  of  her  aching 
head  like  forked  lightning.  He  would  never  know. 
Peter  would  arrange,  Peter  would  manage.  It  was 
a  dreadful  thing  she  had  done,  dreadful.  But  she 
had  been  driven  to  it.  If  the  time  would  come  over 
again  .  .  .  but  time  never  does  come  over  again. 
She  must  play  her  part  and  play  it  boldly.  She  was 
trembling  inside,  but  outwardly  he  saw  her  preen- 
ing herself  before  the  glass  as  she  talked  to 
him. 


326  TWILIGHT 

"  I  think  we  have  had  enough  of  Mrs.  Roope. 
You  haven't  half  admired  my  frock.  I  have  a  great 
mind  not  to  wear  my  new  teagown  tonight.  I 
should  resent  it  being  ignored.  We  ought  to  go 
out  again  until  dinner,  the  afternoon  is  lovely.  I 
can't  sit  on  the  beach  in  this,  but  I  need  only  slip 
on  an  old  skirt.  Shall  I  put  on  another  skirt?  Do 
you  feel  in  the  humour  for  the  beach?  I've  a 
thousand  questions  to  ask  you.  I  seem  to  have  been 
down  here  by  myself  for  an  age.  I  have  actually 
started  a  book !  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  I  want 
to  tell  you  about  it.  What  has  been  decided  about 
the  door-plates?  What  did  the  parents  say  when 
they  heard  I'd  fled?" 

"  I  didn't  see  them  until  the  next  day." 

"  Had  they  recovered  ?  " 

"  They  were  resigned.  I  promised  to  bring  you 
back  with  me  on  Monday." 

"And  now  you  don't  want  to?" 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Did  I  say  it  ?  My  mood  is  frivolous,  you 
mustn't  take  me  too  seriously.  The  beach  .  .  . 
you  haven't  answered  about  the  beach.  Perhaps 
you'd  rather  walk.  I  don't  mind  adventuring  this 
skirt  if  we  walk." 

"  You  are  not  too  tired  ?  " 

"  How  conventional !  " 

Something  had  come  between  them,  some  sum- 
mer cloud  or  thunderstorm.  Try  as  they  would 


TWILIGHT  327 

during  the  remainder  of  the  day  they  could  not 
break  through  or  see  each  other  as  clearly  as  be- 
fore. Margaret  talked  frivolously,  or  seriously, 
rallied,  jested  with  him.  He  struggled  to  keep  up 
with  her,  to  take  his  tone  from  hers,  to  be  natural. 
But  both  of  them  were  acutely  aware  of  failure,  of 
artificiality.  The  walk,  the  dinner,  the  short 
evening  failed  to  better  the  situation.  When  they 
bade  each  other  good-night  he  made  one  more 
effort. 

"You  find  it  impossible  to  forgive  me?" 
"  There   is  nothing   I   would   not   forgive  you. 
That's  the  essential  difference  between   us,"   she 
answered  lightly. 

"  There  is  no  essential  difference;  don't  say 
it." 

"  The  day  has  been  something  of  a  failure,  don't 
you  think?  But  then  so  was  the  day  when  you 
cut  yourself  shaving."  She  maintained  the  flippant 
tone.  "  That  came  right.  Perhaps  tomorrow  when 
we  meet  we  shall  find  each  other  wholly  adorable 
again."  She  would  not  be  serious,  was  light, 
frivolous  to  the  last.  "  Good-night.  Don't  paint 
devils,  don't  see  ghosts.  Tomorrow  everything 
may  be  as  before.  Kiss  me  good-night.  Sleep 
well ! "  He  kissed  her,  hesitated,  kept  her  in  the 
shelter  of  his  arms : 

"  Margaret  .  .  ."     She  freed  herself : 

"  No.     I  know  that  tone.     It  means  more  ques- 


328  TWILIGHT 

tions.  You  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  time  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition.  Don't  you  wish  you  could 
put  me  on  the  rack?  There  is  a  touch  of  the  in- 
quisitor about  you.  I  never  noticed  it  before  .  .  . 
Good-night!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

MARGARET  slept  ill  that  night.  Round  and  round 
in  her  unhappy  mind  swirled  the  irrefutable  fact 
that  she  had  lied  to  her  lover,  and  that  he  knew  she 
had  lied.  Broken  her  promise,  her  oath;  and  he 
knew  that  she  was  forsworn.  She  passionately  de- 
sired his  respect;  in  all  things  he  had  been  on  his 
knees  before  her.  If  he  were  no  longer  there  she 
would  find  the  change  of  attitude  difficult  to  en- 
dure. Yet  in  the  watches  of  the  night  she  clung  to 
the  hope  that  he  could  know  nothing  definitely. 
He  might  suspect  or  divine,  but  he  could  not  know. 
She  counted  on  Peter  Kennedy,  trusted  that  when 
the  five  hundred  pounds  were  paid  the  woman  would 
be  satisfied,  would  go  quietly  away,  that  nothing 
more  would  ever  be  heard  of  her. 

Wednesday  next  they  were  to  be  married.  She 
told  herself  that  if  she  had  lost  anything  she  would 
regain  it  then.  Perhaps  she  would  tell  him,  but 
not  until  after  she  had  re-won  him.  She  knew  her 
power.  If,  too,  she  distrusted  it,  sensing  something 
in  him  incorruptible  and  granite-hard,  she  took 
faint  and  feverish  consolation  by  reminding  herself 
that  it  was  night-time,  when  all  troubles  look  their 
worst.  She  resolutely  refused  to  consider  the  per- 

329 


330  TWILIGHT 

manent  loss  of  that  which  she  now  knew  she  valued 
more  than  life  itself.  The  possibility  intruded, 
but  she  would  not  look. 

In  short  snatches  of  troubled  sleep  she  lived 
again  through  the  scenes  of  the  afternoon,  saw  him 
doubt,  heard  him  question,  gave  flippant  answers. 
In  oases  of  wakefulness  she  felt  his  arms  about  her, 
and  the  restrained  kisses  that  were  like  vows;  con- 
jured up  thrilled  moments  when  she  knew  how  well 
he  loved  her.  She  began  to  dread  those  nightmare 
sleeps,  and  to  force  herself  to  keep  awake.  At  four 
o'clock  she  consoled  herself  that  it  would  soon  be 
daylight.  At  five  o'clock,  after  a  desperate  short 
nightmare  of  estrangement  from  which  she  awoke, 
quick-pulsed  and  pallid,  she  got  up  and  put  on  a 
dressing-gown,  drew  up  the  blind,  and  opened  wide 
the  window.  She  watched  the  slow  dawn  and  in 
the  darkness  heard  the  breakers  on  the  stony  beach. 
Nature  calmed  and  quieted  her.  She  began  to 
think  her  fears  had  been  foolish,  to  believe  that  she 
had  not  only  played  for  safety  but  secured  it,  that 
the  coming  day  would  bring  her  the  Gabriel  she 
knew  best,  the  humble  and  adoring  lover.  She  pic- 
tured their  coming  together,  his  dear  smile  and  re- 
stored confidence.  He  would  have  forgotten  yes- 
terday. The  dawn  she  was  watching  illumined 
and  lightened  the  sky.  Soon  the  sun  would  rise 
grandly,  already  his  place  was  roseate-hued.  "  Red 
sky  in  the  morning  is  the  shepherd's  warning,"  runs 


TWILIGHT  331 

the  old  proverb.  But  Margaret  had  never  heard, 
or  had  forgotten  it.  To  her  the  roseate  dawn  was 
all  promise.  The  day  before  them  should  be  ex- 
quisite as  yesterday,  and  weld  them  with  its  warmth. 
She  would  withhold  nothing  from  him,  nothing  of 
her  love.  Then  peace  would  fall  between  them? 
and  the  renewal  of  love  ?  At  six  o'clock  she  pulled 
down  the  blinds  and  went  back  to  bed  again,  where 
for  two  hours  she  slept  dreamlessly.  Stevens  woke 
her  with  the  inevitable  tea. 

"It  can't  be  morning  yet?  It  is  hardly  light." 
She  struggled  with  her  drowsiness.  "  I  don't  hear 
rain,  do  I?" 

"  There's  no  saying  what  you  hear,  but  it's 
raining  sure  enough,  a  miserable  morning  for 
May." 

"  May !    But  it  is  nearly  June !  " 

"  I'm  not  gainsaying  the  calendar." 

"  Pull  up  the  blind." 

A  short  time  before  she  had  gazed  on  a  roseate 
dawn,  now  rain  was  driving  pitilessly  across  the 
landscape,  and  all  the  sky  was  grey.  No  longer 
could  she  hear  the  breakers  on  the  shore.  All  she 
heard  was  the  rain.  Stevens  shut  the  window. 

"  You'd  best  not  be  getting  up  early.  There's 
nothing  to  get  up  for  on  a  morning  like  this.  It's 
not  as  if  you  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  church." 
Margaret  was  conscious  of  depression.  Stevens's 
grumbling  kept  it  at  bay,  and  she  detained  her  on 


332  TWILIGHT 

one  excuse  or  another;  tried  to  extract  humour 
from  her  habitual  dissatisfaction. 

"  It  will  be  like  this  all  day,  you  see  if  it  isn't. 
The  rain  is  coming  down  straight,  too,  and  the 
smoke's  blowing  all  ways."  She  changed  the  sub- 
ject abruptly,  as  maids  will,  intent  on  her  duties. 
"  I'll  have  to  be  getting  out  your  clothes.  What  do 
you  think  you'll  wear?  " 

"  I  meant  to  try  my  new  whipcord." 

"  With  the  wheat-ear  hat !  What's  the  good  of 
that  if  you  won't  have  a  chance  of  going  out?" 

"  One  of  my  new  tea-gowns,  then  ?  " 

"  I  never  did  hold  with  tea-gowns  in  the  morn- 
ing," Stevens  answered  lugubriously.  "  I  suppose 
Mr.  Stanton  will  be  coming  over.  Not  but  what 
he'll  get  wet  through." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  came  all  the  same." 
Margaret  smiled,  and  the  omniscient  maid  reflected 
the  smile,  if  a  little  sourly. 

"  There's  never  no  saying.  There's  that  tele- 
phone going.  Another  mistake,  I  suppose.  I  wish 
I'd  the  drilling  of  them  girls.  Oh !  I'm  coming,  I'm 
coming !  "  she  cried  out  to  the  insensitive  instru- 
ment. "  Don't  you  attempt  to  get  up  till  I  come 
back.  You're  going  to  have  a  fire  to  dress  by; 
calendar  or  no  calendar,  it's  as  cold  as  winter." 

Margaret  watched  the  rain  driving  in  wind  gusts 
against  the  window  until  Stevens  came  back.  Some- 
how the  rain  seemed  to  have  altered  everything, 


TWILIGHT  333 

she  felt  the  fatigue  of  her  broken  night,  the  irrita- 
bility of  her  frayed  nerves. 

"  It's  that  there  Dr.  Kennedy.  He  wants  to 
know  how  soon  he  may  come  over.  He  says  he's 
got  something  to  tell  you.  *  All  the  fat's  in  the 
fire,'  he  said.  '  Am  I  to  tell  her  that? '  I  arst  him. 
'  Tell  her  anything  you  like,'  he  answered,  '  but  find 
out  how  soon  I  can  see  her.'  Very  arbitrary  he  was 
and  impatient,  as  if  I'd  nothing  to  do  but  give  and 
take  his  messages." 

"  Tell  him  I'm  just  getting  up.  I  can  be  ready  in 
half  an  hour." 

"I  shall  tell  him  nothing  of  the  sort.  Half  an 
hour,  indeed,  with  your  bath  and  everything,  and 
no  breakfast,  and  the  fire  not  yet  lit.  Nor  one 
of  the  rooms  done,  I  shouldn't  think  ..." 

"  Tell  him  I'll  see  him  in  half  an  hour,"  Mar- 
garet persisted.  "  Now  go  away,  that's  a  good 
woman,  and  do  as  you  are  told.  Don't  stand  there 
arguing,  or  I'll  answer  the  telephone  myself."  She 
put  one  foot  out  of  bed  as  if  to  be  as  good  as  her 
word,  and  Stevens,  grumbling  and  astonished,  went 
to  do  her  bidding. 

Half  an  hour  seemed  too  long  for  Margaret. 
What  had  Peter  Kennedy  to  tell  her?  Had  he  met 
or  seen  Mrs.  Roope?  "  All  the  fat  was  in  the  fire." 
What  fat,  what  fire?  The  phrase  foreshadowed 
comedy  and  not  tragedy.  But  that  was  nothing 
for  Peter  Kennedy,  who  was  in  continual  need  of 


334  TWILIGHT 

editing,  who  had  not  the  gift  of  expression  nor  the 
capacity  of  appropriate  words.  She  scrambled  in 
and  out  of  her  bath,  to  Stevens's  indignation,  never 
waiting  for  the  room  to  be  warmed.  She  was  im- 
patient about  her  hair,  would  not  sit  still  to  have 
it  properly  brushed,  but  took  the  long  strands  in 
her  own  hands  and  "  twisted  them  up  anyhow." 
Stevens's  description  of  the  whole  toilette  would 
have  been  sorry  reading  in  a  dress  magazine  or 
ladies'  paper. 

"  Give  me  anything,"  she  says,  "  anything. 
What  does  it  matter?  He'll  be  here  any  minute 
now.  The  old  dressing-gown,  or  a  shirt  and  skirt. 
Whichever  is  quickest.  What  a  slowcoach  you're 
getting!" 

"  Slowcoach !  She  called  me  a  slowcoach,  and 
from  first  to  last  it  hadn't  been  twenty  minutes." 

Margaret,  sufficiently  dressed,  but  without  hav- 
ing breakfasted,  very  pale  and  impatient,  was  at 
the  window  of  the  music  room  when  Peter  came  up 
the  gravel  path  in  his  noisy  motor,  flung  in  the  clutch 
with  a  grating  sound,  pulled  the  machine  to  a  stand- 
still. There  was  no  ceremony  about  showing  him 
up.  He  was  in  the  room  before  she  had  collected 
herself.  He,  too,  was  pale,  his  chin  unshaved,  his 
eyes  a  little  wild;  looking  as  if  he,  also,  had  not 
slept. 

"You've  heard  what  happened?"  he  began,  ab- 
ruptly. ..."  No,  of  course  you  haven't,  how  could 


TWILIGHT  335 

you?  What  a  fool  I  am!  There's  been  a  hell 
of  a  hullabaloo.  That's  why  I  telephoned,  rushed 
up.  You  know  that  she-cat  came  down  here  ?  "  He 
had  difficulty  in  explaining  his  errand. 

"  Yes.  I  saw  her,  she  waited  for  you  at  the 
hotel.  Go  on,  what  next?" 

"  I  didn't  get  back  until  after  nine  o'clock.  And 
then  I  found  her  waiting  for  me.  The  servants  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of  her;  they  told  me  they 
couldn't  understand  what  she  said,  so  I  suppose  she 
talked  Christian  Science.  Fortunately  I'd  got  the 
cheque  with  me.  I  had  not  been  able  to  change  it, 
the  London  banks  were  all  closed.  She  took  it 
like  a  bird.  Not  without  some  of  the  jargon  and 
hope  that  I'd  mend  my  ways,  give  up  prescribing 
drugs.  You  know  the  sort  of  thing.  I  thought 
I'd  got  through,  that  it  was  all  over.  The  cheque 
was  dated  Saturday,  she  would  be  able  to  cash  it 
first  thing  Monday  morning.  It  was  as  good  as 
money  directly  the  banks  opened.  I  never  dreamt 
of  them  meeting." 

"Who?"  asked  Margaret,  with  pale  lips.  She 
knew  well  enough,  although  she  asked  and  waited 
for  an  answer. 

"  She  and  Gabriel  Stanton.  It  seems  she  was  too 
late  for  the  last  train  and  had  to  put  up  at  the 
hotel  ..." 

"At  the  King's  Arms?" 

"  Yes.     He  met  her  there,  or  rather  she  forced 


336  TWILIGHT 

herself  on  him.  God  knows  what  she  had  in  her 
mind.  Pure  mischief,  I  suspect,  though  of  course 
it  may  have  been  propaganda.  It  seems  he  came 
in  about  ten  o'clock  and  went  on  to  the  terrace  to 
smoke  or  to  look  at  the  sea.  She  followed  him  there, 
tackled  him  about  his  sister  or  his  soul." 

"  How  do  you  know  all  this  ?  " 

"  Let  me  tell  the  story  my  own  way.  He  met 
her  full-face  so  to  speak,  wanted  to  know  exactly 
what  she  was  doing  in  this  part  of  the  world.  Per- 
haps she  didn't  know  she  was  giving  away  the  show. 
Perhaps  she  didn't  know  he  wasn't  exactly  in  our 
confidence.  There  is  no  use  thinking  the  worst  of 
her." 

"  She  knew  what  she  was  doing,  that  she  was 
coming  between  us."  Margaret  spoke  in  a  low 
voice,  a  voice  of  desperate  certainty  and  hopeless- 
ness. 

"  Well,  that  doesn't  matter  one  way  or  another, 
what  her  intentions  were,  I  mean.  I  don't  know 
myself  what  had  happened  between  you  and  him. 
Although  of  course  I  spotted  quick  enough  he'd 
had  some  sort  of  shock.  ..." 

"  Then  you  have  seen  him !  " 

"  I  was  coming  to  that.  After  his  interview  with 
her  he  came  straight  to  me." 

"  To  you !    But  it  was  already  night !  " 

"  I'd  gone  to  bed,  but  he  rang  the  night  bell,  rang 
and  rang  again.  I  didn't  know  who  it  was  when  I 


TWILIGHT  337 

shouted  through  the  tube  that  I'd  come  down,  that 
I  shouldn't  be  half  a  minute.  When  I  let  him  in 
I  thought  he  was  a  ghost.  I  was  quite  staggered, 
he  seemed  all  frozen  up,  stiff.  Just  for  a  moment 
it  flashed  across  me  that  he'd  come  from  you,  that 
you  were  ill,  needed  me.  But  he  did  not  give  me 
time  to  say  the  wrong  things.  '  Mrs.  Roope  has 
just  left  me/  he  began.  '  The  devil  she  has/  was 
all  I  could  find  to  answer.  I  was  quite  taken  aback. 
I  needn't  go  over  it  all  word  by  word,  it  wasn't 
very  pleasant.  He  accused  me  of  compromising  you, 
seemed  to  think  I'd  done  it  on  purpose,  had  some 
nefarious  motive.  I  was  in  the  dark  about  how 
much  he  knew,  and  that  handicapped  me.  I  swore 
you  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  he  said  haughtily 
that  I  was  to  leave  your  name  out  of  the  conversa- 
tion. And  now  I'm  coming  to  the  point.  Why  I 
am  here  at  all.  It  seems  she  tried  to  rush  him  for 
a  bit  more,  and  he,  well  practically  told  her  to  go 
to  blazes,  said  he  should  stop  the  cheque,  prosecute 
her.  He  seemed  to  think  I  was  trying  to  save  my- 
self at  your  expense.  ASS !  He  is  going  up  this 
morning  to  see  his  lawyer,  he  wants  an  information 
laid  at  Scotland  Yard.  He  says  the  Christian 
Science  people  are  practically  living  on  blackmail, 
getting  hold  of  family  secrets  or  skeletons.  And 
he's  not  going  to  stand  for  it.  I  did  all  I  knew  to 
persuade  him  to  let  well  alone.  We  nearly  came  to 
blows,  only  he  was  so  damned  dignified.  I  said  I 


338  TWILIGHT 

believed  it  would  break  you  up  if  there  was  another 
scandal.  '  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Capel  will 
see  the  matter  in  the  same  light  that  I  do,'  he  said 
in  the  stiffest  of  all  his  stiff  ways."  Peter  Kennedy 
paused.  He  had  another  word  to  say,  but  he  said 
it  awkwardly,  with  an  immense  effort,  and  after  a 
pause. 

"  He'll  come  up  here  this  morning  and  tackle  you. 
You  don't  care  a  curse  if  I'm  dead  or  alive,  I  know 
that.  But  if  .  .  .  if  he  drives  you  too  far  .  .  . 
well,  you  know  I'd  lay  down  my  life  for  you.  He 
says  I've  no  principle,  and  as  far  as  you're  con- 
cerned that's  true  enough.  I'd  say  black  was  white, 
I'd  steal  or  starve  to  give  you  pleasure,  save  you 
pain.  That's  what  I've  come  to  say,  to  put  myself 
at  your  service."  She  put  up  her  hand,  motioned 
him  to  silence.  All  this  time  he  had  been  standing 
up,  now  he  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  brushed  his 
hand  across  his  forehead.  "  I  hardly  know  what 
I'm  saying,  I  haven't  slept  a  wink." 

"  You  were  saying  you  would  do  anything  for 
me." 

"  I  meant  that  right  enough." 

Without  any  preparation,  for  until  now  she  had 
listened  apparently  calmly,  she  broke  into  a  sudden 
storm  of  tears.  He  got  up  again  and  went  and 
stood  beside  her. 

"  I  can't  live  without  him,"  she  said.  "  I  can't 
live  without  him,"  she  repeated  weakly. 


TWILIGHT  339 

"  Oh,  I  say,  you  know  ..."  But  he  had  noth- 
ing to  say.  The  sniffing  Stevens,  disapproval 
strongly  marked  upon  her  countenance,  here 
brought  in  a  tray  with  coffee  and  rolls.  Margaret, 
recovering  herself  with  an  effort,  motioned  her  to 
set  it  down. 

"  You  ought  to  make  her  take  it,"  Stevens  said 
to  Dr.  Kennedy  indignantly,  "  disturbing  her  be- 
fore she's  breakfasted.  She's  had  nothing  inside 
her  lips."  He  was  glad  of  the  interruption. 

"  You  stay  and  back  me  up,  then."  Together 
they  persuaded  or  forced  her  to  the  coffee,  she 
could  not  eat,  and  was  impatient  that  Stevens  and 
the  tray  should  go  away.  Her  outburst  was  over, 
but  she  was  pitiably  shaken. 

"  He'll  come  round,  all  right,"  Peter  said  awk- 
wardly, when  they  were  alone  again.  She  looked  at 
him  with  fear  in  her  eyes : 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"Who  wouldn't?" 

"  You  don't  think  he  would  go  up  to  London 
without  seeing  me?  " 

"  Not  likely." 

She  spoke  again  presently.  In  the  interval  Peter 
conjured  up  the  image  of  Gabriel  Stanton,  speak- 
ing to  her  as  he  had  to  him,  refusing  compromise, 
harshly  unapproachable,  rigid. 

"  I  could  never  go  through  what  I  went  through 
before." 


340  TWILIGHT 

"  You  shan't." 

"What  could  you  do?" 

"  I'll  find  some  way  ...  a  medical  certificate !  " 

"  The  shame  of  it !  "  She  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"  It  won't  happen.  She's  had  her  money.  He 
may  have  rubbed  her  up  the  wrong  way,  but  after 
all  she  has  nothing  to  gain  by  interfering." 

"If  only  I  had  told  him  myself!  If  only  I 
hadn't  lied  to  him!" 

Peter,  desperately  miserable,  walked  about  the 
room,  interjecting  a  word  now  and  again,  trying 
to  inspirit  her. 

"  You  had  better  go,"  she  said  to  him  in  the  end. 
"  It's  nearly  ten  o'clock.  If  he  is  coming  up  at 
all  he  will  be  here  soon." 

"  Of  course  he  is  coming  up.  How  can  I  leave 
you  like  this  ?  "  he  answered  wildly.  "  Can't  I  do 
anything,  say  anything,  see  him  for  you?"  Mar- 
garet showed  the  pale  simulacrum  of  a  smile. 

"  That  was  my  idea,  once  before,  wasn't  it?  No, 
you  can't  see  him  for  me." 

"I  can't  do  anything?" 

"  I'm  not  sure." 

She  spoke  slowly,  hesitatingly.  In  truth  she 
did  not  know  how  she  was  to  bear  what  she 
saw  before  her.  Not  marriage,  safety,  happiness, 
was  to  be  hers,  only  humiliation.  Death  was  prefer- 


TWILIGHT  341 

able,  a  thousand  times  preferable.  She  was  im- 
pulsive and  leaped  to  this  conclusion. 

"Can't  I  do  anything?"  he  said  again. 

"  Peter,  Peter  Kennedy,  you  say  you  would  do 
anything,  anything,  for  me.  I  wonder  what  you 
mean  by  it.  ...  How  much  or  how  little?  " 

"  Lay  down  my  life." 

"  Or  risk  it  ?  There  must  be  a  way,  you  must 
know  a  way  of  ...  of  shortening  things.  I 
could  not  go  through  it  all  again  .  .  .  not  now. 
If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  if  I  can't  make 
him  listen  to  reason,  if  he  won't  forgive  or  under- 
stand. If  I  have  to  face  the  court  again,  my  father 
and  stepmother  to  know  of  my  .  .  .  my  impru- 
dence, all  the  horrors  to  be  repeated.  To  have  to 
stand  up  and  deny  ...  be  cross-examined.  About 
you  as  well  as  him  ..." 

Again  she  hid  her  face.  Then,  after  a  pause  in 
which  she  saw  her  life  befouled,  and  Gabriel  Stan- 
ton  as  her  judge  or  executioner,  she  lifted  a  strained 
and  desperate  face.  "  You  would  find  a  way  to 
end  it?" 

She  waited  for  his  answer. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  If  it  became  unbearable.  Life 
no  longer  a  gift,  but  leprous  ..." 

"  It  isn't  as  if  you  had  done  anything,"  he  ex- 
claimed. 


342  TWILIGHT 

"  I've  promised  and  broken  my  promise,  lied, 
deceived  him.  It  was  only  to  secure  his  happiness, 
mine  .  .  .  ours  .  .  .  But  if  he  takes  it  differ- 
ently, and  must  have  publicity  .  .  ." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  could  go  through  it,"  he 
said  gloomily.  "  One  of  those  heart  attacks  of 
yours  might  come  on." 

"  You  know  the  pain  is  intolerable." 

"  That  amyl  helps  you." 

"  Not  much." 

"  Morphia." 

"  Was  a  failure  last  time.  Peter,  think,  won't 
you  think  ?  Couldn't  you  give  me  anything  ?  Isn't 
there  any  drug?  You  are  fond  of  drugs,  learned 
in  them.  Isn't  there  any  drug  that  would  put  me  out 
of  my  misery?  " 

He  listened  and  she  pressed  him. 

"  Think,  think." 

"  Of  course  there  are  drugs." 

"  But  the  drug." 

"  There's  hyoscine  ..." 

"Tell  me  the  effect  of  that?" 

"  It  depends  how  it  is  given  .  .  .  what  it  is 
given  for." 

"  For  f orgetf ulness  ?  " 

"  A  quarter  of  a  grain  injection." 

"And,  and  ..." 

"  Nothing,  nothingness." 

"If  you  love  me,  Peter   .    .    .    You  say  you 


TWILIGHT  343 

love  me  .  .  .  If  the  worst  came  to  the  worst, 
you  will  help  me  through  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Don't." 

"  I  must.  ...   I  want  your  promise." 

"What  is  the  good  of  promising?  I  couldn't 
do  it." 

"  You  said  you  could  die  for  me." 

"  It  isn't  my  death  you  are  asking.  Unless  I 
should  be  hanged !  " 

"  You  can  safeguard  yourself." 

"  You  will  never  ask  me." 

"But  if  I  did?" 

"Oh,  God  knows!" 

"If  I  not  only  asked  but  implored?  Give  me 
this  hope,  this  promise.  //  I  come  to  the  end  of 
my  tether,  can  bear  no  more;  then  ask  you  for  re- 
lease, the  great  release  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  My  hand  would  drop  off." 

"  Lose  your  hand." 

"  My  heart  would  fail." 

"  Other  men  have  done  such  things  for  the 
woman  they  love." 

"  It  won't  come  to  that." 

"  But  if  it  did  .   .   .   ? " 

She  pressed  him,  pressed  him  so  hard  that  in  the 
end  he  yielded,  gave  her  the  promise  she  asked.  His 
night  had  been  sleepless,  he  had  been  without  break- 
fast. He  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying,  only 
that  he  could  not  say  "  No  "  to  her.  And  that  when 


344  TWILIGHT 

he  said  "  Yes,"  she  took  his  hand  in  hers  a  mo- 
ment, his  reluctant  hand,  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
it. 

"  Dear  friend,"  she  said  tenderly,  "  you  give 
me  courage." 

When  he  went  away  she  looked  happier,  or  at 
least  quieter.  He  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  when 
he  got  into  the  car.  But  still  against  his  hand  he 
felt  the  softness  of  her  cheek  and  the  fear  of  un- 
manly tears  made  him  exceed  the  speed  limit. 

Margaret,  left  alone,  calculated  her  resources 
and  for  all  her  whilom  amazing  vanity  found  them 
poor  and  wanting.  What  would  Gabriel  say  to  her 
this  morning,  how  could  she  answer  him?  If  he 
truly  loved  her  and  she  pointed  out  to  him,  proved 
to  him  that  their  marriage,  their  happiness,  need  not 
be  postponed,  would  he  listen?  She  saw  herself 
persuading  him,  but  remembered  that  her  father  in 
many  an  argument  had  failed  in  making  him  admit 
that  there  was  more  than  one  standard  of  ethics, 
of  right  conduct.  If  he  truly  loved  her!  In  this 
black  moment  she  could  doubt  it.  For  unlike 
Peter  Kennedy  he  would  put  honour  before  her 
love. 

Gabriel,  her  lover,  came  late,  on  slow  reluctant 
feet.  He  loved  her  no  less,  although  he  knew  she 
had  deceived  him,  kept  things  back  from  him,  com- 
plicated, perhaps,  both  their  lives  by  her  action.  He 
knew  her  motives  also,  that  it  was  because  she 


TWILIGHT  345 

loved  him.  He  had  no  harsh  judgment,  only  an 
overwhelming  pang  of  tenderness.  He,  too,  had 
faced  the  immediate  future.  He  knew  there 
must  be  no  marriage  whilst  this  thing  hung  over 
and  menaced  them.  Yet  to  take  her  into  his  own 
keeping,  guard  and  cherish  her,  was  a  desire  sharp 
as  a  sword  is  sharp,  and  too  poignant  for  words. 
He  thought  she  would  understand  him.  But  more 
definitely  perhaps  he  feared  her  opposition.  The 
fear  had  slowed  his  feet.  She  did  not  know  her 
lover  when  she  dreaded  his  reproaches.  When  he 
came  into  the  music  room  this  grey,  wet  morning, 
he  saw  that  she  looked  ill,  but  hardly  guessed  that 
she  was  apprehensive,  and  of  him.  He  bent  over 
her  hands,  kissed  her  hands,  held  them  against  his 
lips. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear."  Her  mercurial  spirits  rose 
at  a  bound. 

"  I  thought  you  would  reproach  me." 

"  My  poor  darling !  " 

"  I  wish  I  had  told  you." 

"  Never  mind  that  now." 

"  But  that  was  the  worst  of  everything.  You 
don't  know  how  I  have  reproached  myself." 

"  You  must  not." 

"You  have  not  left  off  caring  for  me,  then?" 

"  I  never  cared  for  you  so  much." 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  grave,  so  serious  ?  " 

Her  heart  was  shaking  as  she  questioned  him. 


346  TWILIGHT 

In  his  tenderness  there  was  something  different, 
something  inflexible. 

"  My  darling,"  he  said  again. 

"  That  means  .   .   .   ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  let  me  stop  that 
cheque." 

"  No." 

"  Fortunately  it  is  Sunday.  We  have  the  day 
before  us.  I  am  going  up  by  the  two-o'clock.  I've 
sent  my  bag  down  to  the  station.  I've  already  been 
on  to  my  lawyer  by  telephone  and  he  will  see  me 
at  his  private  house  this  afternoon.  In  my  opinion 
we  have  nothing  at  all  to  fear.  The  King's  Proctor 
will  not  move  on  such  evidence  as  she  has  to  offer, 
she  has  overreached  herself.  We  ought  to  have 
her  in  gaol  by  tomorrow  night." 

"In  gaol!" 

"  That  is  where  she  should  be.  She  frightened 
you  .  .  .  she  shall  go  to  gaol  for  it.  Margaret, 
will  you  write  to  your  bankers  ...  let  me 
write  ..." 

"  No !  "  she  said  again. 

"  Sweetheart !  "  and  he  caressed  her. 

"  No.  Gabriel,  listen  to  me.  I  am  overwhelmed 
because  I  broke  my  promise  to  you,  was  not  candid. 
But  though  I  am  overwhelmed  and  unhappy  ..." 

"  I  will  not  let  you  be  unhappy  .   .   ." 

She  brushed  that  aside  and  went  on : 

"  I  am  not  sorry  for  what  I  have  done.    There 


TWILIGHT  347 

is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  what  she  says.  As  you 
say,  I  have  admitted  guilt,  being  innocent.  Gabriel, 
I  was  innocent  before,  but  racked,  tortured  to  prove 
it.  Here  I  have  only  paid  five  hundred  pounds. 
Oh,  Heaven!  give  me  words,  the  power  to  show 
you.  I  am  pleading  with  you  for  my  life.  For 
my  life,  Gabriel  .  .  .  ours.  Let  the  cheque  go 
through,  give  her  another  if  necessary,  and  yet 
another.  I  don't  mind  buying  my  happiness."  She 
pleaded  wildly. 

"  Hush!  Hush!  "  He  hushed  her  on  his  breast, 
held  her  to  him. 

"  Dear  love  ..."  She  wept,  and  the  tortures 
of  which  she  spoke  were  his.  "  If  only  I  might 
yield  to  you." 

"  What  is  it  stops  you  ?  Obstinacy,  self-right- 
eousness ..." 

"If  it  were  either  would  I  not  yield  now,  now, 
with  your  dear  head  upon  my  breast  ?  "  She  was 
sobbing  there.  "  Dear  love,  you  unman  me."  His 
breathing  was  irregular.  "  Listen,  you  unman  me, 
you  weaken  me.  We  were  both  looking  forward, 
and  must  still  be  able  to  look  forward.  And  back- 
ward, too.  Not  stain  our  name,  more  than  our 
name,  our  own  personal  honour.  Margaret,  we 
are  clean,  there  must  be  no  one  who  can  say, 
'  Had  they  been  innocent,  would  they  have  paid  to 
hide  it  ? '  And  this  fresh  charge,  this  fresh  and 
hideo.us  accusation !  And  you  would  accept  all,  ad- 


348  TWILIGHT 

mit  all !  My  dear,  my  dear,  it  must  not  be,  we  have 
not  only  ourselves  to  consider." 

"  Not  only  ourselves !  "  He  held  her  closer, 
whispered  in  her  ear. 

She  had  heard  him  discuss  commercial  morality 
with  her  father,  had  seen  into  both  their  souls; 
learnt  her  lover's  creed.  One  must  not  best  a  fel- 
lowman,  fool  though  he  might  be,  nor  take  advan- 
tage of  his  need  nor  ignorance.  She  had  learnt  that 
there  were  such  things  as  undue  percentage  of  profit, 
although  no  man  might  know  what  that  profit  was. 
"  Child's  talk,"  her  father  had  called  it,  and  told 
him  Wall  Street  would  collapse  in  a  day  if  his 
tenets  were  to  hold  good.  Margaret  had  been  proud 
of  him  then,  although  secretly  her  reason  had  failed 
to  support  him,  for  it  is  hard  to  upset  the  teaching 
of  a  lifetime.  To  her,  it  seemed  there  were  con- 
ventions, but  common  sense  or  convenience  might 
override  them.  In  this  particular  instance  why 
should  she  not  submit  to  blackmail,  paying  for 
the  freedom  she  needed?  But  he  could  not  be 
brought  to  see  eye  to  eye  with  her  in  this.  She  used 
all  the  power  that  was  in  her  to  prove  to  him  that 
there  is  no  sharp  line  of  demarcation  between  right 
and  wrong,  that  one  can  steer  a  middle  course. 

The  short  morning  went  by  whilst  she  argued. 
She  put  forth  all  her  powers,  and  in  the  end,  quite 
suddenly,  became  conscious  that  she  had  not  moved 
him  in  the  least,  that  as  he  thought  when  he  came 


TWILIGHT  349 

into  the  room,  so  he  thought  now.  He  used  the 
same  words,  the  same  hopeless  unarguable  words. 
"  Being  innocent  we  cannot  put  in  this  plea  of 
guilty."  She  would  neither  listen  nor  talk  any  more, 
but  lay  as  a  wrestler,  who,  after  battling  again  and 
again  until  the  whistle  blew  and  the  respite  came, 
feels  both  shoulders  touching  the  ground,  and  sud- 
denly, without  appeal,  admits  defeat. 

When  Gabriel  wrote  the  letter  to  the  bank  stop- 
ping the  cheque  that  was  to  be  paid  to  Mrs.  Roope 
on  the  morrow,  she  signed  it  silently.  When  he 
asked  her  to  authorise  him  to  see  her  father  if  nec- 
essary, to  allow  either  or  both  of  them  to  act  for 
her,  she  acquiesced  in  the  same  way.  She  was 
quite  spent  and  exhausted. 

"  I  will  let  you  know  everything  we  do,  every  step 
we  take." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear."  She  accepted  his 
caresses  without  returning  them,  she  had  no  capac- 
ity left  for  any  emotion. 

Then,  after  he  had  gone,  for  there  was  no  time 
to  spare  and  he  must  not  miss  his  train,  she  re- 
mained immobile  for  a  time,  the  panorama  of  the 
future  unfolding  before  her  exhausted  brain.  What 
a  panorama  it  was!  She  was  familiar  with  every 
sickening  scene  that  passed  before  her.  Lawyer's 
office,  documents  going  to  and  fro,  delay  and  yet 
more  delay.  Appeal  to  Judge  in  Chambers,  and 
from  Judge  in  Chambers,  interrogatories  and  yet 


350  TWILIGHT 

more  interrogatories,  demands  for  further  particu- 
lars, the  further  particulars  questioned;  Counsel's 
opinion,  the  case  set  down  for  hearing,  adjourn- 
ments and  yet  further  adjournments. 

At  last  the  Court.  Speeches.  And  then,  stand- 
ing behind  the  rail  in  the  witness-box,  the  cynosure 
of  all  eyes,  she  saw  herself  as  in  the  stocks,  for  all 
to  pelt  with  mud  .  .  .  herself,  her  wretched,  cow- 
ering self!  Gabriel  said  they  were  clean  people; 
she  and  he  were  clean.  So  far  they  were,  but  they 
would  be  pelted  with  mud  nevertheless;  perhaps  all 
the  more  because  their  cleanliness  would  make  so 
tempting  a  target.  The  judge  would  find  the  mud- 
flinging  entertaining,  would  interpolate  facetious 
remarks.  The  Christian  Science  element  would 
give  him  opportunity.  The  court  would  be  crowded 
to  suffocation.  She  felt  the  closeness  and  the  musty 
air,  arid  felt  her  heart  contract  .  .  .  but  not  ex- 
pand. That  slight  cramp  woke  her  from  her  dread- 
ful dream,  but  woke  her  to  terror.  Such  a  warning 
she  had  had  before.  She  was  able,  however,  to  ring 
for  help.  Stevens  came  running  and  began  to  ad- 
minister all  the  domestic  remedies,  rating  her  at 
the  same  time  for  having  "  brought  it  on  herself," 
grumbling  and  reminding  her  of  all  her  impru- 
dences. 

"  No  breakfast,  and  lunch  not  up  yet ;  I  never  did 
see  such  goin's-on." 

She  had  the  sense,  however,  in  the  midst  of  her 


TWILIGHT  351 

grumbling  to  send  for  the  doctor,  and  before  the 
pain  was  at  its  height  he  was  in  the  room.  The 
bitter-sweet  smell  of  the  amyl  told  him  what  had 
been  already  done.  What  little  more  he  could  do 
brought  her  no  relief.  He  took  out  the  case  he 
always  carried,  hesitated,  and  chose  a  small  bottle. 

"  Get  me  some  hot  water,"  he  said,  to  Stevens. 

"Morphia?"  she  gasped. 

"  Yes." 

"  Put  it  away." 

"  Because  it  failed  once  is  no  reason  it  should 
fail  again." 

"  I'm  in  ...  I'm  in  ...  agony." 

"  I  know." 

"  And  there's  no  hope." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you'll  get  through  this." 

"  I  don't  want  to  ...  only  not  to  suffer.  Re- 
member, you  promised."  He  pretended  not  to  hear, 
busying  himself  about  her. 

"  He  has  gone.  I've  stopped  the  cheque.  Pe- 
ter ..."  The  pain  rose,  her  voice  with  it,  then  col- 
lapsed; it  was  dreadful  to  see  her. 

"  Help  me  .  .  .  give  me  the  hyoscine,"  she  said 
faintly.  His  hand  shook,  his  face  was  ashen.  "  I 
can't  bear  this  .  .  .  you  promised."  The  agony 
broke  over  her  again.  He  poured  down  brandy,  but 
it  might  have  been  water.  His  heart  was  wrung, 
and  drops  of  perspiration  formed  upon  his  forehead. 
She  pleaded  to  him  in  that  faint  voice,  then  was 


352  TWILIGHT 

past  pleading,  and  could  only  suffer,  then  began 
again : 

"  Pity  me.  Do  something  ...  let  me  go;  help 
me  .  .  ." 

One  has  to  recollect  that  he  loved  her,  that  he 
knew  her  heart  was  diseased,  that  there  would  be 
other  such  attacks.  Also  that  Gabriel  Stanton,  as 
he  feared,  had  proved  inflexible.  There  would  be 
no  wedding  and  inevitable  publicity.  Then  she 
cried  to  him  again.  And  Stevens  took  up  the  bur- 
den of  her  cry. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake  give  her  something,  give 
her  what  she's  asking  for.  Human  nature  can't 
bear  no  more  .  .  .  look  at  her."  Stevens  was 
moved,  as  any  woman  would  be,  or  man,  either,  by 
such  suffering. 

"  Your  promise ! "  were  words  that  were  wrung 
through  her  dry  lips.  Her  tortured  eyes  raked  and 
racked  him. 

"  I  .   .  .1  can't,"  was  all  the  answer. 

"  If  you  care,  if  you  ever  cared.  Your  miserable 
weakness.  Oh,  if  I  only  had  a  man  about  me !  " 
She  turned  away  from  him  for  ease  and  he  could 
hardly  hear  her.  In  the  next  paroxysm  he  lifted 
her  gently  on  to  the  floor,  placed  a  pillow  under  her 
head.  He  whispered  to  her,  but  she  repelled  him, 
entreated  her,  but  she  would  not  listen.  All  the 
time  the  pain  went  on.  ''  You  promised,"  were 
not  words, — but  a  moan. 


TWILIGHT  353 

Desperately  he  took  the  cachet  from  the  wrong 
bottle,  melted  it,  filled  his  needle.  When  he  bade 
Stevens  roll  up  her  sleeve,  she  smiled  on  him, 
actually  smiled. 

"Dear  Peter!  How  right  I  was  to  trust 
you !  .  .  . "  Her  voice  trailed.  The  change  in  her 
face  was  almost  miraculous,  the  writhing  body  re- 
laxed. She  sighed.  Almost  it  seemed  as  if  the 
colour  came  back  to  her  lips,  to  her  tortured  face. 
"  Dear,  good  Peter,"  were  her  last  words,  a  message 
he  stooped  to  hear. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,"  said  Stevens  piously,  "  she's 
getting  easier."  She  was  still  lying  on  the  floor,  a 
pillow  under  her  head,  and  they  watched  her  silently. 

"Shall  I  lift  her  back?" 

"  No,  leave  her  a  few  minutes."  He  had  the  sense 
to  add,  "  The  morphia  doesn't  usually  act  so 
quickly."  Stevens  had  seen  him  give  her  morphia 
before  in  the  same  way,  with  the  same  preliminaries. 
He  had  saved  her,  he  must  save  himself.  He  was 
conscious  now  of  nothing  but  gladness.  He  had 
feared  his  strength,  but  his  strength  had  been  equal 
to  her  need.  She  was  out  of  pain.  Nothing  else 
mattered.  She  was  out  of  pain,  he  had  promised 
her  and  been  equal  to  his  promise.  He  was  no 
Gabriel  Stanton  to  argue  and  deny,  deny  and  argue. 
He  wiped  his  needle  carefully,  put  it  away.  Then 
a  cry  from  Stevens  roused  him,  brought  him  quickly 
to  her  side. 


354  TWILIGHT 

"She's  gone.  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  She's 
gone !  "  He  lifted  her  up,  laid  her  on  the  sofa,  the 
smile  was  still  on  her  face,  she  looked  asleep.  But 
Stevens  was  there  and  he  had  to  dissimulate. 

"  She  is  unconscious.  Get  on  to  the  telephone. 
Ask  Dr.  Lansdowne  to  come  over." 

Then  he  made  a  feint  of  trying  remedies. 
Strychnine,  more  amyl,  more  brandy,  artificial  res- 
piration. He  was  glad,  glad,  glad,  exulting  as  the 
moments  went  on.  He  thanked  God  that  she  was 
at  rest.  " He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep"  He  called 
her  beloved,  whispered  it  in  her  ear  when  Stevens 
was  summoning  that  useless  help.  He  had  sealed 
her  to  him,  she  was  his  woman  now,  and  for  ever. 
No  self-righteous  iceberg  could  hold  and  deny 
her. 

"  Sleep  well,  beloved,"  he  whispered.  "  Sleep 
well.  Smile  on  me,  smile  your  thanks." 

He  recovered  himself  with  an  immense,  an  in- 
credible effort.  He  wanted  to  laugh,  to  exult,  to 
call  on  the  world  to  see  his  work,  what  he  had  done 
for  her,  how  peaceful  she  was,  and  happy.  He  was 
as  near  madness  as  a  sane  man  could  be,  but  by 
the  time  his  partner  came  he  composed  his  face 
and  spoke  with  professional  gravity: 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  late." 

Dr.  Lansdowne,  hurrying  in,  wore  his  habitual 
grin. 

"  I  always  knew  it  would  end  like  this.     Didn't 


TWILIGHT  355 

I  tell  you  so?  An  aneurism.  I  diagnosed  it  a 
long  time  ago."  He  had  even  forgotten  his  diag- 
nosis. "  I  suppose  you've  tried  ...  so  and  so?" 
He  recapitulated  the  remedies.  Stevens,  stunned 
by  the  calamity,  but  not  so  far  as  to  make  her  for- 
get to  pull  down  the  blinds,  listened  and  realised 
Dr.  Kennedy  had  left  nothing  undone. 

"  I  suppose  there  will  have  to  be  an  inquest?  " 

"  An  inquest !  My  dear  fellow.  An  inquest! 
What  for?  I  have  seen  her  and  diagnosed,  prog- 
nosed.  You  have  attended  her  for  weeks  under  my 
direction.  Unless  her  family  wish  it,  it  is  quite 
unnecessary.  I  shall  be  most  pleased  to  give  a 
death  certificate.  You  have  informed  the  relatives, 
of  course  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

Stevens  emitted  one  dry  sob  which  represented 
her  entire  emotional  capacity,  and  hastened  to  ring 
up  Queen  Anne's  Gate.  Dr.  Lansdowne  began  to 
talk  directly  she  left  them  alone.  He  told  his  silent 
colleague  of  an  eructation  that  troubled  him  after 
meals,  and  of  a  faint  tendency  to  gout.  Then  cast 
a  perfunctory  glance  at  the  sofa. 

"  Pretty  woman !  "  he  said.  "  All  that  money, 
too!" 

Peter,  suddenly,  inexplicably  unable  to  stand, 
sank  on  his  knees  by  the  sofa,  hid  his  face  in  her 
dress.  Dr.  Lansdowne  said.  "  God  bless  my  soul !  " 
Peter  broke  into  tears  like  a  girl. 


356  TWILIGHT 

"  Come,  come,  this  will  never  do.  Pull  yourself 
together,  or  I  shall  think  ...  I  shan't  know  what 
to  think  ..." 

Peter  recovered  himself  as  quickly  as  he  had 
collapsed,  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  It  was  so  sudden,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  I 
was  unprepared  ..." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  exactly  what  would  hap- 
pen. The  case  could  hardly  have  ended  any  other 
way." 

He  said  a  few  kind  words  about  himself  and  his 
skill  as  a  diagnostician.  Peter  listened  meekly,  and 
was  rewarded  by  the  offer  of  a  lift  home.  "  You 
can  come  up  again  later,  when  the  family  has  ar- 
rived, they  will  be  sure  to  want  to  know  about  her 
last  moments  .  .  .  Or  I  might  come  myself,  tell 
them  I  foresaw  it  .  . " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  WOKE  up  suddenly.  A  minute  ago  I  had  seen 
Peter  Kennedy  kneeling  by  the  sofa,  his  head  against 
Margaret's  dress.  He  had  looked  young,  little  more 
than  a  boy.  Now  he  was  by  my  side,  bending  over 
me.  There  was  grey  in  his  hair,  lines  about  his 
face. 

"  You've  grown  grey,"  was  the  first  thing  I  said, 
feebly  enough  I've  no  doubt,  and  he  did  not  seem 
to  hear  me.  "  My  arm  aches.  How  could  you 
do  it?" 

"Do  what?" 

"  She  was  so  young,  so  impetuous,  everything 
might  have  come  right  ..." 

"  She  is  wandering,"  he  said.  I  hardly  knew  to 
whom  he  spoke,  but  felt  the  necessity  of  protest. 

"  I'm  not  wandering.     Is  Ella  there  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Is  there  anything  you  want  ?  " 
She  came  over  to  me. 

"  I  needn't  write  any  more,  need  I  ?  I'm  so  tired." 
Ella  looked  at  him  as  if  for  instructions,  or  guid- 
ance, and  he  answered  soothingly,  as  one  speaks  to 
a  child  or  an  invalid: 

"  No,  no,  certainly  not.    You  need  not  write  un- 

357 


358  TWILIGHT 

til  you  feel  inclined.  She  has  been  dreaming,"  he 
explained. 

It  did  not  seem  worth  while  to  contradict  him 
again.  I  was  not  wide-awake  yet,  but  swayed  on 
the  borderland  between  dreams  and  reality.  Three 
people  were  in  the  dusk  of  the  well-known  room. 
They  disentangled  themselves  gradually;  Nurse 
Benham,  Dr.  Kennedy,  Ella  in  the  easy-chair,  Mar- 
garet's easy-chair.  It  was  evening  and  I  heard  Dr. 
Kennedy  say  that  I  was  better,  stronger,  that  he 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  give  me  a  morphia  in- 
jection. 

"Or  hyoscine." 

I  am  sure  I  said  that,  although  no  one  answered 
me,  and  it  was  as  if  the  words  had  dissolved  in 
the  twilight  of  the  room.  Incidentally  I  may  say  I 
never  had  an  injection  of  morphia  since  that  even- 
ing. I  knew  how  easy  it  was  to  make  a  mistake  with 
drugs.  So  many  vials  look  alike  in  that  small 
valise  doctors  carry.  I  was  either  cunning  or  clever 
that  night  in  rejecting  it.  Afterwards  it  was  only 
necessary  to  be  courageous. 

I  found  it  difficult  in  those  first  few  twilight  days 
of  recovering  consciousness  to  separate  this  Dr. 
Kennedy  who  came  in  and  out  of  my  bedroom  from 
that  other  Dr.  Kennedy,  little  more  than  a  boy, 
who  had  wept  by  the  woman  he  released,  the 
authoress  whose  story  I  had  just  written.  And  my 
feelings  towards  him  fluctuated  considerably.  My 


TWILIGHT  359 

convalescence  was  very  slow  and  difficult,  and  I 
often  thought  of  the  solution  Margaret  Capel  had 
found,  sometimes  enviously,  at  others  with  a  shud- 
dering fear.  At  these  times  I  could  not  bear  that 
Dr.  Kennedy  should  touch  me,  his  hand  on  my 
pulse  gave  me  an  inward  shiver.  At  others  I  looked 
upon  him  with  the  deepest  interest,  wondering  if 
he  would  do  as  much  for  me  as  he  had  done  for 
her,  if  his  kindness  had  this  meaning.  For  he  was 
kind  to  me,  very  kind,  and  at  the  beck  and  call  of 
my  household  by  night  and  day.  Ella  sent  for  him 
if  my  temperature  registered  half  a  point  higher  or 
lower  than  she  anticipated,  any  symptom  or  change 
of  symptom  was  sufficient  to  send  him  a  peremptory 
message,  that  he  never  disregarded.  Ella,  I  could 
tell,  still  suspected  us  of  being  in  love  with  each 
other,  and  she  dressed  me  up  for  his  visits.  Lacy 
underwear,  soft  chiffony  tea-gowns,  silken  hose  and 
satin  or  velvet  shoes  diverted  my  weakness  into 
happier  channel  and  kept  her  in  her  right  milieu. 

Then,  not  all  at  once,  but  gradually  and  almost 
incredibly  the  whole  circumstances  changed.  Dr. 
Kennedy  came  one  day  full  of  excitement  to  tell 
us  that  a  new  treatment  had  been  found  for  my 
illness.  Five  hundred  cases  had  been  treated,  of 
which  over  four  hundred  had  been  cured,  the  rest 
ameliorated.  Of  course  we  were  sceptical.  Other 
consultants  were  called  in  and,  not  having  suggested 
the  treatment,  damned  it  wholeheartedly.  One  or 


360  TWILIGHT 

two  grudgingly  admitted  a  certain  therapeutic  value 
in  selected  cases,  but  were  sure  that  mine  was  not 
one  of  them!  The  medical  world  is  as  difficult  to 
persuade  to  adventure  as  an  old  maid  in  a  provin- 
cial town.  My  own  tame  general  practitioner, 
whom  I  had  previously  credited  with  some  slight 
intelligence,  was  moved  to  write  to  Dr.  Kennedy 
urging  him  vehemently  to  forbear.  He  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  give  his  reasons,  and  for  me  at 
least  they  proved  conclusive! 

On  the  27th  of  May  I  took  my  first  dose  of 
thirty  grains  of  iodide  of  potassium  and  spent  the 
rest  of  the  day  washing  it  down  with  glasses  of 
chlorine  water  masked  with  lemon.  I  was  still  the 
complete  invalid,  going  rapidly  downhill;  on  a  water 
bed,  spoon-fed,  and  reluctantly  docile  in  Benham's 
hard,  yet  capable  hands.  On  the  2/th  of  June  I 
was  walking  about  the  house.  By  the  27th  of  July 
I  had  put  on  seventeen  pounds  in  weight  and  had 
no  longer  any  doubt  of  the  result.  I  had  found  the 
dosage  at  first  both  nauseous  and  nauseating.  Now 
I  drank  it  off  as  if  it  had  been  champagne.  Hope 
effervesced  in  every  glass.  The  desire  to  work 
came  back,  but  without  the  old  irritability.  Ella, 
before  she  left,  said  I  was  more  like  myself  than  I 
had  been  for  years.  Dr.  Kennedy  had  unearthed 
this  new  treatment  and  she  extolled  him,  notwith- 
standing her  old  prejudices,  admitted  it  was  to  him 
we  owed  my  restoration,  yet  never  ceased  to  rally 


TWILIGHT  361 

me  and  comment  on  the  power  of  love.  I  agreed 
with  her  in  that,  knowing  hers  had  saved  me  even 
before  the  drug  began  to  act.  It  was  for  her  hand  I 
had  groped  in  the  darkest  hour  of  all.  Even  now  I 
remember  her  passionate  avowal  that  she  would 
not  let  me  die,  my  more  weakly  passionate  response 
that  I  could  not  leave  her  lonely  in  the  world.  Now 
we  said  rude  things  to  each  other,  as  sisters  will, 
with  an  intense  sense  of  happiness  and  absence  of 
emotion.  I  criticised  Tommy's  handwriting,  and 
she  retorted  that  at  least  she  saw  it  regularly. 
Whilst  as  for  Dennis  .  .  . 

But  there  was  no  agony  there  now  to  be  assuaged. 
My  boy  was  on  his  way  home  and  the  words  he 
had  written,  the  cable  that  he  had  sent  when  he 
heard  of  my  illness,  lay  near  my  heart,  too  sacred 
to  show  her.  I  let  her  think  I  had  not  heard  from 
him.  Closer  even  than  a  sister  lies  the  tie  between 
son  and  mother.  Not  perhaps  between  her  and  her 
rough  Tommy,  her  fair  Violet,  but  between  me  and 
my  Dennis,  my  wild  erratic  genius,  who  could 
nevertheless  pen  me  those  words  .  .  .  who  could 
send  me  the  sweetest  love  letter  that  has  ever  been 
written. 

But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  me  and  Dr.  Peter 
Kennedy,  and  the  curious  position  between  us.  For 
a  long  time  after  I  began  to  get  well  it  seemed  we 
were  like  two  wary  wrestlers,  watching  for  a  hold. 
Only  that  sometimes  he  seemed  to  drop  all  reserves, 


362  TWILIGHT 

to  make  an  extraordinary  rapprochement.  I  might 
flush,  call  myself  a  fool,  remember  my  age,  but 
at  these  times  it  would  really  appear  as  if  Ella  had 
some  reason  in  her  madness,  as  if  he  had  some  per- 
sonal interest  in  me.  At  these  times  I  found  him 
nervous,  excitable,  utterly  unlike  his  professional 
self.  As  for  me  I  had  to  preserve  my  equanimity, 
ignore  or  rebuff  without  disturbing  my  equilibrium. 
I  was  fully  employed  in  nursing  my  new-found 
strength,  swallowing  perpetually  milk  and  eggs, 
lying  for  hours  on  an  invalid  carriage  amid  the  fad- 
ing gorse,  reconstructing,  rebuilding,  making  vows. 
I  had  been  granted  a  respite,  if  not  a  reprieve,  and 
had  to  prove  my  worthiness.  The  desire  for  work 
grew  irresistible.  When  I  asked  for  leave  he  com- 
bated me,  combated  me  strenuously. 

"  You  are  not  strong  enough,  not  nearly  strong 
enough.  You  have  built  up  no  reserve.  You  must 
put  on  another  stone  at  least  before  you  can  con- 
sider yourself  out  of  the  wood." 

"  I  won't  begin  anything  new,  but  that  story,  the 
story  I  wrote  in  water  ..."  I  watched  him  when 
I  said  this.  I  saw  his  colour  rise  and  his  lips  trem- 
ble. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  had  forgotten  about  that."  But  I 
saw  he  had  not  forgotten.  "  You  never  saw  your 
midnight  visitor  again?  " — he  asked  me  with  an  at- 
tempt at  carelessness — "  Margaret  Capel.  Do  you 
remember,  in  the  early  days  of  your  illness  how 


TWILIGHT  363 

often  you  spoke  of  her,  how  she  haunted  you?" 
He  spoke  lightly,  but  there  was  anxiety  in  his  voice, 
and  Fear  .  .  .  was  it  Fear  I  saw  in  his  eyes,  or 
indecision  ?  "  Since  you  have  begun  to  get  better 
you  have  never  mentioned  her  name.  You  were 
going  to  write  her  life  .  .  ."he  went  on. 

"  And  death,"  I  answered  to  see  what  he  would 
say.  We  were  feinting  now,  getting  closer. 

'  You  know  she  died  of  heart  disease,"  he  asked 
quickly.  "  There  was  an  inquest  ..." 

"  I  saw  her  die,"  I  answered,  not  very  coolly 
or  conclusively.  His  face  was  very  strange  and 
haggard,  and  I  felt  sorry  for  him. 

"  How  strange  and  vivid  dreams  can  be.  Mor- 
phia dreams  especially,"  he  replied,  rather  ques- 
tioningly  than  assertively. 

"  I  thought  you  agreed  mine  were  not  dreams  ?  " 

"Did  I?    When  was  that?" 

"  When  you  brought  me  their  letters,  told  me 
I  was  foredoomed  to  write  her  story.  Hers  and 
his.  I  can't  think  why  you  did." 

"Did  I  say  that?" 

"  More  than  once.  I  suppose  you  thought  I  was 
not  going  to  get  better."  He  did  not  answer  that 
except  with  his  rising  colour  and  confusion,  and  I 
saw  now  I  had  hit  upon  the  truth.  "  I  wonder  you 
gave  me  the  iodide,"  I  said  thoughtfully. 

"  I  suppose  now  you  think  me  capable  of  every 
crime  in  the  calendar?  " 


364  TWILIGHT 

That  brought  us  to  close  quarters,  and  I  took  up 
the  challenge. 

"  No,  I  don't.  Your  hand  was  forced."  Then 
I  added,  I  admit  more  cruelly :  "  Have  you  ever 
done  it  again  ?  " 

He  had  been  sitting  by  my  couch  in  the  garden;  a 
basket-work  chair  stood  there  always  for  him. 
Now  he  got  up  abruptly,  walked  away  a  few  steps. 
I  watched  him,  then  thought  of  my  question,  a  dozen 
others  rising  in  my  mind.  It  was  eleven  years  since 
Margaret  Capel  died  and  a  jury  of  twelve  good  men 
and  true  had  found  that  heart  disease  had  been  the 
cause  of  death.  There  had  been  a  rumour  of  sui- 
cide, and,  in  society,  some  talk  of  cause.  Absurd 
enough,  but,  as  Ella  had  reminded  me,  very  preva- 
lent and  widespread.  The  rising  young  authoress 
was  supposed  to  have  been  in  love  with  an  eminent 
politician.  His  wife  died  shortly  before  she  started 
the  long-delayed  divorce  proceedings  against  James 
Capel,  and  this  gave  colour  to  the  rumour.  It  was 
hazarded  that  he  had  made  it  clear  to  her  that  re- 
marriage was  not  in  his  mind.  Few  people  knew 
of  the  real  state  of  affairs.  Gabriel  Stanton  shut 
that  close  mouth  of  his  and  told  no  one.  I  won- 
dered about  Gabriel  Stanton,  but  more  about  Peter 
Kennedy,  who  had  walked  away  from  me  when  I 
spoke.  What  had  happened  to  him  in  these  eleven 
years?  Into  what  manner  of  man  had  he  grown? 
He  came  back  presently,  sat  down  again  by  my 


TWILIGHT  365 

couch,  spoke  abruptly  as  if  there  had  been  no 
pause. 

"  You  want  to  know  whether  I  have  ever  done 
for  anybody  what  I  did  for  Margaret  Capel?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  asked  you." 

"  Will  you  believe  me  when  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Perhaps.  Why  did  you  first  encourage  me  to 
write  Margaret  Capel's  life  and  then  try  and  pre- 
vent my  doing  it?  " 

"  You  won't  believe  me  when  I  tell  you." 

"  Probably  not." 

"  I  wanted  to  know  whether  she  had  forgiven 
me,  whether  she  was  still  glad.  When  you  told  me 
you  saw  and  spoke  to  her  ..." 

"  It  was  almost  before  that,  if  I  remember 
rightly." 

"  It  may  have  been.  Do  you  remember  I  said 
you  were  a  reincarnation?  The  first  time  I  came 
in  and  saw  you  sitting  there,  at  her  writing-table, 
in  her  writing-chair,  I  thought  of  you  as  a  reincar- 
nation." 

The  light  in  his  eyes  was  rather  fitful,  strange. 

"  I  was  right,  wasn't  I,  Margaret  ?  "  He  put  a 
hand  on  my  knee.  I  remembered  how  she  had  flung 
it  off  under  similar  circumstances.  I  let  it  lie  there. 
Why  not? 

"  My  name  is  Jane."  It  came  back  to  me  that  I 
had  said  this  to  him  once  before. 

"  You  don't  care  for  me  at  all  ?  " 


366  TWILIGHT 

"  I  am  glad  you  thought  of  the  intensive  iodide 
treatment.  It  has  its  advantages  over  hyoscine." 

"  You  have  not  changed  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  like  you  to  remember  this  is 
the  twentieth  century." 

He  sighed  and  took  his  hand  off  my  knee,  drew 
it  across  his  forehead. 

"  You  don't  know  what  the  last  few  months  have 
meant  to  me,  coming  up  here  again,  every  day  or 
twice  a  day,  taking  care  of  you,  giving  you  back 
those  letters,  knowing  you  knew  ..." 

"  You  had  not  the  temptation  to  rid  yourself  of 
me  again?" 

"  You  have  grown  so  cold.  I  suppose  you  would 
not  look  at  the  idea  of  marrying  me  ?  " 

"  You  suppose  quite  correctly,"  I  answered, 
thinking  of  Ella,  and  what  a  score  this  would 
be  to  her. 

"  It  would  make  everything  so  right.  I  have 
been  thinking  of  this  ever  since  you  began  to  get 
better,  before,  too.  You  will  always  be  delicate, 
need  a  certain  amount  of  care.  No  one  could  give 
it  to  you  as  well  as  I.  Why  not  ?  I  have  almost  the 
best  practice  in  Pineland,  and  I  deserve  it,  too. 
I've  worked  hard  in  these  eleven  years.  I've  given 
an  honest  scientific  trial  to  every  new  treatment. 
I've  saved  scores  of  lives  ..." 

"  Your  own  in  jeopardy  all  the  time." 

"  She  asked  me  to  do  it,  begged  me  to  do  it  .  .  . " 


TWILIGHT  367 

He  spoke  wildly.  "  Gabriel  Stanton  was  inflex- 
ible, the  marriage  was  to  be  postponed  whilst  Mrs. 
Roope  was  prosecuted,  or  the  case  fought  out  in 
the  Law  Courts.  And  every  little  anxiety  or  ex- 
citement set  her  poor  heart  beating  .  .  .  put  her 
in  pain  .  .  .  jeopardised  her  life.  I'd  do  it  again 
tomorrow.  I  don't  care  who  knows.  You'll  have 
to  tell  if  you  want  to.  If  you  married  me  you 
couldn't  give  evidence  against  me  .  .  ." 

His  smile  startled  me;  it  was  strange,  cunning. 
It  seemed  to  say,  "  See  how  clever  I  am, — I  have 
thought  of  everything." 

"  There,  I  have  had  that  in  my  .mind  ever  since 
you  began  to  be  better." 

"  It  was  not  because  you  have  fallen  in  love  with 
me,  then?"  I  scoffed. 

"  When  you  are  Margaret,  I  love  you  ...  I 
adore  you."  The  whole  secret  flashed  on  me  then, 
flashed  through  his  strange  perfervid  eyes.  We 
were  in  full  view  of  a  curious  housemaid  at  a  win- 
dow, but  he  kneeled  down  by  my  couch,  as  he  had 
kneeled  by  Margaret's. 

"  You  are  Margaret.  Tell  me  the  truth.  There 
is  no  other  fellow  now.  You  always  said  if  it  were 
not  for  Gabriel  Stanton  .  .  ." 

I  quieted  him  with  difficulty.  I  saw  what  was  the 
matter.  Of  course  I  ought  to  have  seen  it  before, 
but  vanity  and  Ella  obscured  the  truth.  The  poor 
fellow's  mind  was  unhinged.  For  years  he  had 


368  TWILIGHT 

brooded  and  brooded,  yet  worked  magnificently  at 
his  profession,  worked  at  making  amends.  The 
place  and  I  had  brought  out  the  latent  mischief. 
Now  he  implored  me  to  marry  him,  to  show  him  I 
was  glad  he  had  carried  out  my  wishes. 

"  Your  heart  is  now  quite  well  ...  I  have 
sounded  it  over  and  over  again.  You  will  never 
have  a  return  of  those  pains.  Margaret  ..." 

I  got  rid  of  him  that  day  as  quickly  as  possible, 
not  answering  yes  or  no  definitely,  marking  time, 
soothing  him  disingenuously.  Before  the  next  day 
was  at  its  meridian  I  had  hurriedly  left  Carbies. 
Left  Pineland,  all  the  strange  absorbing  story,  and 
this  poor  obsessed  doctor.  I  left  a  letter  for  him,  the 
most  difficult  piece  of  prose  I  have  ever  written.  I 
was  writing  to  a  madman  to  persuade  him  he  was 
sane !  I  gave  urgent  reasons  for  being  in  London, 
added  a  few  lines,  that  I  hoped  he  would  under- 
stand, about  having  abandoned  my  intention  of 
turning  my  morphia  dreams  into  "copy";  tried  to 
convey  to  him  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
me  ... 

I  never  had  an  answer  to  my  letter.  I  parried 
Ella's  raillery,  resumed  my  old  life.  But  I  could 
not  forget  my  country  practitioner  nor  what  I  owed 
him.  A  peculiar  tenderness  lingered.  However  I 
might  try  to  disguise  names  and  places  he  would 
read  through  the  lines.  It  was  difficult  to  say  what 
would  be  the  effect  on  his  mind  and  I  would  not  take 


TWILIGHT  369 

the  risk.  I  held  over  my  story  as  long  as  I  was 
able,  even  wrote  another  meantime.  But  three 
months  ago  I  became  a  free  woman.  I  read  in  the 
obituary  column  of  my  morning  paper  that  Peter 
Kennedy,  M.D.,  F.R.C.S.,  of  Pineland,  Isle  of 
Wight,  had  died  from  the  effects  of  a  motor  acci- 
dent. 

The  obituary  notices  were  very  handsome  and 
raised  him  from  the  obscurity  of  a  mere  country 
practitioner.  It  mentioned  the  distinguished  per- 
sons he  had  had  under  his  care.  The  late  Margaret 
Capel,  for  instance.  But  not  myself!  I  suspected 
Dr.  Lansdowne  of  having  sent  the  notices  to  the 
press,  his  name  occurred  in  all  of  them,  the  part- 
nership was  bugled. 

Peter  Kennedy  died  well.  He  was  driving  his 
car  quickly  on  an  urgent  night  call.  Some  strange 
cur  frisked  into  the  road  and  to  avoid  it  he  swerved 
suddenly.  Death  must  have  been  instantaneous.  I 
was  glad  that  he  died  without  pain.  I  had  rather 
he  was  alive  today,  although  my  story  had  remained 
for  ever  unwritten.  So  few  people  have  ever  cared 
for  me.  Had  I  chosen  I  do  believe  his  reincarnation 
theory  would  have  held.  And  I  should  have  had 
at  least  one  lover  to  oppose  to  Ella's  many! 


>WIV,  THOMSf 

L 


RETURNED 


